Cassette #2
Hello gorgeous, it’s me.
This is my first ever recording and this is my third attempt. I keep erasing them and re-doing them. I had the machine too close and then too far away so you couldn’t hear a thing. Like most people, I hate the sound of my voice, too. So it’s very tempting to hit that erase button and start again, but if I keep doing that, I’ll never get these done. Hopefully I’ll get the hang of it in the end.
So, I’ve been sitting looking at this photo trying to remember what it was that first attracted me to you. That will sound wrong, I know. It sounds as if I can’t believe that I was attracted to you and that’s not what I’m trying to say at all.
When I look at this photo, I see a chavvy Margate lass with a Chewbacca hairstyle and a skinny, spotty boy with a fringe. But I did like you. I liked you instantly. And when I try really hard, when I close my eyes and try to remember, the two things that keep coming back to me are how shy you were and how familiar you seemed. Of course, we came up with a reason for that strange sense of familiarity much later on, but at the time it seemed magical.
But your shyness was very attractive to me. I remember, for instance, how when I winked at you, you averted your gaze. And the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that you were simply the first shy boy I had ever met.
That will sound strange, I expect, but there weren’t any shy boys at my school. They were all too busy being tough and jack-the-lad, even when it was just pretence.
I remember asking you how you liked your hot dog and you saying that you didn’t know, and then blushing when I laughed at the fact that you’d never had a hot dog before.
I thought that was so sweet! Not that you’d never had a hot dog before but the fact that you were embarrassed about never having had one. You actually apologised.
Your voice was really soft, too. That was partly your West Country accent, I suppose, but I loved how quietly you spoke. Half the time I wasn’t sure if I’d heard you correctly.
I remember that tic you had, where you tipped your head all the time to get your fringe out of your eyes, and I remember that your eyelashes seemed huge.
You’ve still got long eyelashes, of course, but your face got wider and more rugged as you grew into manhood, and the lashes somehow got lost in the whole. But when you were twenty, they seemed huge. I remember wanting to kiss your eyes. I don’t think I ever told you that. Isn’t that funny?
So, you jumped the queue and we got our hot dogs. You smothered yours in mustard and then raved about how good they were, which was funny and sort of cute, as well.
You asked me about my job and I told you it was just for the summer, and you asked me if I had a boyfriend and then stared at your feet when I said “no”. You talked about me. You wanted to know all the silly, boring details about my life in Margate. You wanted to know what pub I went to and if I lived with my parents. And that was new to me, as well. Boys generally seemed to spend all their time telling girls about themselves in my experience. But you, you wanted to know all about little old me!
We walked past a photo booth and you said you needed a picture for your student railcard or something and I ducked in halfway through to join you. The first two were of you looking all serious and the third one was blurry, but this one came out. I can’t believe how young we look. And I can’t believe our hair! Still, it was 1982. Bucks Fizz were in the charts so, clearly, no one knew what bad taste meant.
When we got back to the mirrors, I asked you about you, and you said you were at college, that you were studying to be an architect, and I remember being really shocked. I remember not quite grasping it. I think I must have said something daft like, “What, you’re going to build houses and stuff?”
The people I knew worked in Dreamland or Tesco’s. Mum’s boyfriends tended to be bricklayers or car mechanics or, more often than not, on the dole.
So your being at college, your intention to design actual houses, seemed incredible to me. You were like no one I had ever met.
You spoke softly, you blushed, you were learning to design buildings, and you wanted to talk about me! And I thought, Oh God. This is the one I want!
That might sound… what’s the word? Mercenary? But it wasn’t like that at all. I felt, almost instantly, as if I’d known you forever. And I felt, suddenly, as if I’d been a square peg in a round hole all my life.
You had this whole different way of talking and listening and existing, and it was as if you’d opened a door I had never noticed before and I peeped through it and suddenly realised that I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life in the wrong room.
So by the time your friends came by and swept you up with them, I knew. You were everything I wanted.
Actually, it was more, even, than that. You were everything I had ever wanted. I just hadn’t known it until then.
As you went off with your friends, I got all tongue tied. I watched you leaving and felt a sensation of utter panic. And as you turned the corner, I realised that I might never see you again. I imagined myself twenty years down the line still thinking about you, still regretting. So I abandoned my turnstile and I ran after you.
I caught up with you in front of the skating rink. Skate on plastic, it’s fantastic. Do you remember the plastic ice rink?
I grabbed your arm. “Sorry,” I panted, “but are you coming back later?”
“Um, if you want me to,” you said, blinking madly and blushing again. “At nine, right?”
Your friend Glen made a stupid “Ooooh,” noise and you told him to “shut it”.
“Yes, nine,” I said. “I’ll meet you there, by the exit. OK?”
Then, ignoring Glen, who was still being an idiot, I asked you to promise you’d be there. And you did. And you were. And I was so relieved that I kissed you.
• • •
It’s Wednesday evening and Sean is in the process of unloading shopping from the car when Maggie’s little Fiat pulls up.
He carries the shopping bags he’s holding to the front step, then returns to greet her.
“Hello,” he says, as she steps from her car. It’s baby blue with leopard-print trim. Sean always thinks it looks more like a handbag than a car and had been mortified the one time he had been forced, by circumstances, to borrow it. “Have you come to check up on me?”
“Well, if you won’t return my calls…” Maggie says, closing the car door behind her.
“Sorry,” Sean says, leaning in for a peck on the cheek. “But I’ve been ever so busy. We’ve got tons of work on at the moment.”
“Really?”
Sean nods vaguely. “Plus, if truth be told, I’ve not been feeling that sociable. You know…”
“Of course,” Maggie says, joining him at the rear of his Astra. “Let me help you with that.”
“I’m nearly done,” Sean says. He lifts a final insulated carrier bag from the rear of the car and slams the hatch.
When they reach the doorstep, Maggie lifts one of the bags, and as they enter the house, she peers inside at the contents. “Wow,” she says, mockingly. “It’s a ready meal bonanza. That’s not like you.” Within their circle of friends, Sean is famed for his cooking, specifically his authentic Kerala curries.
“I’m failing to get motivated to cook at the moment,” Sean says. “At least it’s better than sandwiches.”
“I’m just glad you’re eating,” Maggie says. “You’re looking skinny.”
“I know.” Sean shrugs and forces a weak smile. “I had to make a new hole in my belt. My trousers kept falling down. But I’m eating better now.”
“So how is it going?” Maggie asks, lifting the bag onto the kitchen counter.
“It?” Sean repeats.
“I mean, how are you coping?”
Sean shrugs again. “I’m OK, I suppose,” he says, opening the freezer and beginning to stack the newly-bought packages. “I’ve got lots of work on, like I said. So that’s good.”
“Yes,” Maggie says, scanning the room. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Are you looking for something?”
“Oh, no. Just, you know, the box I left.”
“Catherine’s box?”
Maggie nods and looks into Sean’s eyes. “I take it you opened it?”
“Yes. Did she tell you what was in it?”
Maggie shakes her head. “Not really. I’m assuming it was photos. Was it photos?”
“Yeah,” Sean says. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“Do I get to see them?” Maggie asks. “Over a cup of tea, maybe?”
Sean frowns and smiles at the same time. “Er, no, Mags. You don’t.”
“Oh, fair enough,” Maggie says. “Sorry. Am I being insensitive? It’s just without knowing exactly what…”
“It’s not just photos,” Sean says. “There are messages too. On those little dictaphone tapes. Quite personal. Well, very personal really. I’m supposed to open one a week.”
“Oh,” Maggie says. “One a week, eh? That’s very organised.”
“Well, Catherine is… was… very organised,” Sean says, wincing at the pain of having made the is/was mistake yet again. It’s still happening regularly.
“Yes, yes, she was,” Maggie agrees, reaching for her car keys.
She looks so uncomfortable that Sean suddenly wants to help her out. “I alternate between wanting to open them all at once and never wanting to open any of them, to be honest,” he says, feeling that sharing this intimate detail will in some way ease Maggie’s discomfort. “But so far, in the absence of a better idea, I’m just sticking to orders. One a week.”
“Right,” Maggie says.
“It’s hard, though.”
“I’m sure.”
“How’s Dave?” Sean asks. “You don’t seem to mention him much at the moment.”
“Oh, you know,” Maggie says. “Dave’s Dave.”
“Meaning?”
“Messy. Disorganised. Confusing. Distracted.”
“Things are no better, then?”
“Do things get any better at our age?” Maggie asks, through a sigh. “Does anything change?”
“I don’t know,” Sean says, thoughtfully. “Things can certainly get worse, so…” He scratches his head.
“Yes,” Maggie says, looking uncomfortable again. “Sorry, here’s you with… with all of this to deal with and I’m the one complaining. I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be very good at this.”
“It’s fine, Maggie,” Sean says. “You’re fine. Really.”
“It’s just that I don’t know how to… I don’t know. I mean, you don’t want to talk about… all of that… And that’s understandable. Of course, it is. But everything we normally would talk about… sounds silly. Unimportant. Compared with… your stuff. Do you know what I mean?”
Sean blinks slowly. “A dead wife trumps everything, I guess.”
“Yes,” Maggie says. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
“You don’t want that cup of tea?”
“No. I should just…” she gestures towards the hallway. “I just wanted to check that you’re OK.”
“Well, your concern is appreciated.”
“Thanks. And you’re doing very well.”
“Am I?”
“You are. So, just, you know… keep it up.”
“Thanks. I’ll do my best.”
“So, what’s for dinner tonight?” Maggie asks, nodding at the freezer.
“This,” Sean says, lifting a still frozen Chicken Tikka Masala box from the countertop. “They’re quite edible, actually.”
“Good,” Maggie says, stepping towards him and leaning in for another peck on the cheek. “Bye sweetie.”
“Oh, Mags?” Sean says as she turns away.
Maggie pauses, her hand on the doorjamb and glances back. “Yes?” she asks. She sounds almost hopeful.
“Don’t tell April, yeah? About the messages.”
“Oh. No,” Maggie says. “No, of course not.”
“It’s not that… it’s not, like, a secret or anything…” Sean stumbles. “I just want to listen to them all first. Before I tell her.”
“Of course,” Maggie says. “And you know me. I won’t say a word.”