Kiss My Name (17 page)

SIMON – July 1993

It was an evening in the week, I don’t remember which evening, actually I do, it was a Tuesday, as Dad had gone up to the Euxton Mills to play darts, which was what had given me the opportunity to speak to Mum, without him being around. I remember, as if it was yesterday, walking into the lounge, Mum was watching some crap on TV, I don’t know what, but a pound to a penny it was probably a game show like Blankety Blank or The Price is Right, as she used to love them.

“Mum, can I have a word?”

My Mum grabbed the remote control and tried to turn the volume down by pressing the mute button, but typically pressed the wrong button, so we then had a minute or two of her trying to get Teletext off the screen, before she finally created television silence.

“Stupid control,” she muttered as if it was somehow the control’s fault that she had never managed to master its array of buttons. Dad was even worse, he still thought ‘contour’ was a mild cigar.

“Ready?” I checked.

“Yes, love, sit down. This sounds serious.”

A lot of people go through phases of hating their parents as they grow up, but I never did. Perhaps it was because I was never the coolest teenager myself or because of Colin’s death or even because I had started working for Dad on the window cleaning round which had taken me away from an education process I didn’t enjoy. I’m not sure quite what it was, but I wasn’t rebellious at any stage really, didn’t think everything they said was stupid and didn’t worry about them showing me up. They were my parents, they weren’t perfect, but at that point they were my only immediate family and I loved them dearly.

“I need some advice, Mum.”

“What sort of advice, Simon?”

“Relationship advice.”

“Oh, ok. Are you in a relationship?”

I think Mum knew the answer to this. If I wasn’t working with Dad, almost every other evening would be spent in the house. Mum did know that a year earlier, I had been spending most of my time at Nicky’s, for a few weeks, but since then, other than the occasional night out, I would be up in my room reading or listening to music.

“No, Mum, you know I’m not, but I’d like to be.”

“With Nicky?”

“How did you know?”

“Simon, you’ve lived with me and your father for twenty years, for the last ten, the only girl’s name I have ever heard you mention is Nicky Moyes. Did she not have a baby, though?”

“She did, baby Will. He’s a right cute little thing.”

“And what’s happened to Will’s Dad?”

“It’s a long story, Mum.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, Simon! It’s only nine o’clock. Your Dad is unlikely to be back from Euxton Mills until kicking out time. I’ve got as long as you want.”

So, over the next fifteen minutes or so, I recounted to Mum the tale of Jason and Nicky’s relationship demise. Jason had cheated on Nicky whilst she was pregnant, but since Will’s birth, she had presumed that Jason had been a devoted boyfriend and father. The previous Saturday night, however, I had reluctantly agreed to have a rare night out with Joey Neill. I was pretty sure Joey just wanted someone to share a train
journey in with and chat with over the first couple of pints before we hit the nightclub and he began sharking more dangerously than Jaws.

I was never comfortable in nightclubs, I couldn’t dance and I didn’t have the confidence to approach a female stranger, even if I had wanted to, which I didn’t, so on arrival in Tokyo Joe’s, I sat myself in a corner, either going to the bar myself or being passed a beer from Joey on one of his many circles of the club, eyeing up talent. After one such lap, he returned with two bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale and what I initially thought was just a drunken grin.

“You won’t believe who I’ve just seen?”

“Who?”

“My old ‘A’ Level Maths teacher, Miss Fulbright, she’s as fit as fuck, big tits too.”

I wasn’t particularly interested. There was only one girl in my life, always had been. I had spoken to Nicky a few weeks earlier just to gauge how things were going. Each time I phoned or Nicky phoned me, I was hoping she was in the midst of a relationship crisis, but you don’t always get what you wish for. On that score, everything seemed fine.

“Have you said ‘hello’?” I asked Joey.

“No, no, I haven’t and do you know why I haven’t, Simon, my boy?”

Joey pinched my two cheeks with two fingers as he said this.

“Surprise me.”

“Because she’s too busy snogging the face off Jason McLaren.”

I nearly spat my Newcastle Brown Ale all over the place.

“You’re having me on!”

“No, I’m not! God’s honest truth, come and look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Sure enough, Joey was right. It took me a while to be one hundred per cent certain, as we were looking on from a discreet distance, but when Jason removed his lips and hands from Miss Fulbright’s scantily clad body, it was definitely him.

“Bloody hell! Is she his teacher?”

“Presumably. What a jammy bastard! Simon, you don’t know how hard I tried to get into that woman’s knickers. Bet she’s got a Brazilian too.”

As we stood and stared from behind a post, like two camouflaged soldiers, I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was delighted that Jason McLaren was up to something that would jeopardise the relationship he had with the girl that I had always wanted to be with. On the other hand, I felt bad for Nicky, she had a nine month old baby with this lad and he was prepared to risk all that for a drunken grope with a busty teacher.

At about one o’clock, with Joey having long since disappeared with a group of students from Lancashire Polytechnic, in search of a house party, I drunkenly ran into Jason at the bar.

“Do you know what?” I said to him in a slurry fashion, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Beautiful girlfriend, beautiful baby and you’re out here, doing what you’re doing.”

“I’m allowed a night off, aren’t I? I saw Nicky and the baby yesterday and most nights this week.”

I thought about it.

“A night off? Yes. Another woman? No.”

“What are you on about, Simon? What other woman?”

“You know. The teacher with the big boobs.”

“I think you’re pissed, Simon. I haven’t got another woman, let alone one with big boobs. I’m just out with a few friends.”

“Whatever, Jason, whatever.”

Having explained all this to my Mum, she was quick to jump to conclusions.

“Simon, you didn’t go running to Nicky, did you? Telling her about this.”

“Why not?”

“You’re taking a bit of a chance doing that, Simon. If they patch things up again, you’ll be the one who gets blamed for everything.”

“Mum, I didn’t tell Nicky.”

“So, you want advice on whether you should? Absolutely not, Simon. If this Jason is a womaniser, he will get his comeuppance. You don’t need to be seen as the bad guy in all this.”

“Mum!” I laughed, “They have split up. It wasn’t me that told Nicky though, Joey Neill did. I just wanted to know whether you think an ugly mug like me has any chance with someone as stunning as Nicky Moyes?”

“Of course you’ve got a chance, Simon! What you lack in looks, you make up for in here.” Mum tapped her heart, “You are a beautiful person, Simon, Nicky knows that....just don’t go steaming in, let her heart recover first.”

“But what if someone gets to her before me, that’s what happened last time. Whilst I kept thinking about whether or not I should ask Nicky out, Jason McLaren just went straight in and asked. What if that happens again?”

Mum looked at me like I was clueless in matters of the heart, which indeed I was.

“Simon, she’s a seventeen year old girl with a nine month old little boy! She’s not going to be out every night, she has responsibilities. Be there for her, but for now, just
as a friend and then, as time passes, you’ll know when the time is right to move things along.”

“Mum, I’m not sure, I’ll ever know. I’m hopeless at things like that, I’ll either make a clumsy attempt at kissing her and ruin our friendship or there will be a moment and I won’t spot it and Nicky will just think I just want to remain good friends.”

“For goodness sake, Simon, have faith in yourself. I’m telling you a moment will arrive and it’ll just feel right.”

“I bet I won’t spot it.”

“Trust me, Simon, you will.”

NICKY – July 1993

I opened the door. Jason was standing on the doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. He had never bought me flowers before, even when I had Will, he didn’t bring flowers into the hospital. Some of the other mothers were brought eternity rings, most flowers, but Jason had never bothered with elaborate presents, until now.

“I don’t want your flowers, Jason.”

It was two o’clock in the afternoon and I still wasn’t dressed. I didn’t have the energy to get dressed, not because of Will, he had been a little sweetheart from the moment he was born, but because of Jason. I must have looked a right state, but I no longer cared how I looked to Jason.

“Why?”

“You know why, Jason, they’re guilt flowers. Go and give them to your fancy piece.”

“Oh I see.....I knew the minute I saw him in there, he’d come running to you, telling tales,” Jason said.

“Who would come running to me?”

“Simon Strong. I’m not stupid, Nicky. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He’s been looking for an excuse to break us up since before Will was born. Go and ask your Dad, he says exactly the same.”

“Jason, I haven’t spoken to Simon Strong for three weeks.”

Jason looked genuinely shocked, then disbelieving.

“Yeh, right!”

“No, honestly I haven’t. If you went out and bought those flowers because you ran into Simon Strong then you wasted your money. Actually, you’ve wasted your money anyway. Can you go home now, please? I don’t want to see you.”

Jason remained rooted to the spot, outside our front door. He was an intelligent lad, but at that point I don’t think his brain knew how to react. He was used to girls fawning over him. He wasn’t used to girls giving him the brush off.

“Come on, Nicky, please let me in,” he practically begged.

“No, the baby will be waking up from his afternoon sleep any time now and I don’t want you to be here when he does.”

“He’s my son, Nicky.”

Jason was practically crying now. He deserved no sympathy, we all have choices to make in life and if he wanted to make choices based on vanity then I couldn’t justify being around to provide a degree of security. What security was Jason giving me?

“You should have thought about that before you went sneaking off to Tokyo Joe’s with some blond floozy.”

“She isn’t a floozy, Nicky.”

“If she’s hanging around with a seventeen year old with a baby, in my eyes she’s a floozy.”

Jason didn’t reply, he just bowed his head a little and stared downwards.

“Oh, right, you didn’t happen to mention to her that you had a girlfriend and a
n eight month old son?”

“She’s just a friend, Nicky.”

“I don’t care what she is, Jason. You told me you were too ill to come around and help me with our son and then you went off clubbing to Preston!”

I started to close the door. Jason put his foot in the way so I couldn’t.

“I’ll give you a ring later, Nicky, once you’ve calmed down. I can explain,” Jason pleaded through a half-closed door.

The thing was, I was calm. I didn’t feel like throwing things at him or shouting like a mad woman. It was simple, our relationship was over. I knew for sure I could no longer trust Jason and I just wanted to sever all physical and emotional ties. I knew we would still have to remain in contact because of Will, but for the moment, I just wanted him out of my sight. He had no respect for me and if I had stayed with him, I would have had no respect for myself either.

“Just leave it for a few days, Jason. Give me some breathing space.”

Jason started crying now and his voice cracked as he spoke,

“I don’t want us to have breathing space, Nicky. Let’s sort this out. I can tell Natalie that we can no longer be friends, if that’s what you want.”

“Jason, it’s over. I won’t be changing my mind, no matter how much you beg or promise to change, it’s over. I’m tired of all this now.”

I pushed the door closed. I would have loved to have taken five minutes to sit against the door crying or done some equally dramatic gesture, but there wasn’t time to waste feeling sorry for myself, Will would be waking up soon. I took the iron and ironing board out from under the stairs, opened up the board, took a load of Will’s clothes out from the tumble dryer and started ironing.

There was no going back this time. Once a relationship is dead, it is dead. It is not like Jesus, it should not be brought back to life three days later.

NICKY – July 1995

I am sure most teenage girls have their heart broken at some stage. Falling head over heels for a good looking boy is something most of us do and as the majority of us don’t marry the first boy we date, we learn from the experience, dry our eyes and move on. Jason McLaren should just live long in my memory banks as my first love, my first lover and the first boy to break my heart. Unfortunately, however, he is remembered as the father of my first child. As a result of him fathering Will, I longed for him to be a good Dad and when it dawned on me that he was failing miserably at that basic task, every action, every lie, every no show, was magnified one hundred fold. In my eyes, he became the worst father in history. When you put your faith in someone and they let you down so spectacularly, it is not easy to just dust yourself down and move on.

Whilst our personal issues were hitting new lows, Jason fulfilled a longstanding ambition to go to Loughborough University. I was glad he moved away as prior to him leaving, every time he came around to see Will, I had to bite my tongue. I had learnt that pointing out his failure as a father, just led to arguments and prolonged absences from visiting his son, so I learnt to keep my frustrations to myself. The initial collapse in our relationship had been caused by Jason embroiling himself in a relationship with one of his College lecturers and as that affair blossomed, his daily visits became twice weekly visits, then weekly, then a couple of times a month. To see your own son twice a month when you only live three miles from him is an absolute disgrace. Several times Jason actually said he would call around and then just didn’t bother, without even a phone call to explain why, Will was too young to understand, but if you want to establish an emotional attachment to your child, you don’t just show up for an hour twice a month because you are too busy the rest of the time shagging your fancy piece.

Ironically, the relationship Jason had deemed to be more important than the
one with his son, did not last. One of Miss Fulbright’s work colleagues, a Mrs. Stevens, had reported her to the Head Teacher for engaging in an inappropriate relationship with a student. Miss Fulbright was suspended pending an investigation and although I’m not exactly sure how that investigation panned out, all I do know is by the time Jason started at Loughborough, Miss Fulbright had returned to her native North East. I have no animosity towards her, perhaps she should have known better but ultimately she wasn’t the one with a baby. If it hadn’t been her, I’m sure it would have been someone else.

As my relationship with Jason collapsed, Simon Strong arrived back on the scene, purely, I may add, in a platonic way. I had known Simon since I was a little girl and despite continual warnings from my father that Simon hankered after a relationship with me, I initially thought he was just being a loyal friend. I loved being in Simon’s company, he was generally considered to be a serious soul, but in my company, he was relaxed and very funny. He was also great with Will. Perhaps I chose to ignore the tell tale signs, but I had no idea that
Simon wanted anything more than friendship until one day the truth came out.

One summer’s evening Simon and I were sat in our lounge, Dad was out at his allotment where he tended to stay until it went dark during those summer months. Dad had bought what he called ‘his summer house’ for the allotment, which was not much more than a shed with a large window at the front. After tending to his vegetable patch, he would sit in there on a deckchair listening to old music on his battery operated Bush radio, smoking away on his pipe and generally chilling out. My
objections to his pipe smoking had become more vocal since Will had been born, so the ‘summer house’ was a place he could do what he wanted without incurring a telling off. This particular evening, Will was flat out in his little bed, shattered from an overdose of fresh air. Simon had passed his driving test and had a battered Ford Escort, so we had taken Will over to Rivington and up Winter Hill. It’s not easy pushing a pushchair up a steep hill like that, so we ended up abandoning that idea, folding it up and taking it back to the car. Simon carried Will throughout our walk, most of the time putting Will over his shoulders. Will squealed with delighted, Simon definitely had a special bond with him and I was aware every passer by would naturally have presumed he was Will’s father, which I didn’t mind at all, as he was certainly a better father than his real one.

“What’s on TV then, Si?” I asked putting my feet up on the settee and stretching them over the tops of Simon’s legs.

“No idea, switch it on and find out.”

“I can’t,” I replied putting on a childish voice, “I’m comfy. Can’t you do it?”

“Nicky, if I do it, I have to remove my legs from under your feet and then you’ll no longer be comfy.”

I gave him a smile.

“Go on, you know you want to! I’ll time you.”

Simon had told me a story once, that him and his late brother, Colin, were always timing each other with their digital watches to see who could complete menial tasks the quickest. As Simon was three years older, he would always win, and as he got older, when their parents asked Simon to do tasks around the house, he would get out of doing them by getting Colin to do them, but promising to time him. If ever I wanted to get out of a job when Simon was around, washing dishes, vacuum cleaning
or even switching the TV on, I would revert back to the old joke and offer to time him. It was a joke that took a year or two to wear thin.

“No, you’re alright,” Simon replied, “I’m happy here with your legs on me. Can we not just forget watching TV and have a good old fashioned chinwag?”

“Talk?” I scoffed, “John Logie Baird did not go to the trouble of inventing the television so people could talk. Whatever next!”

“Well, I’m not moving,” Simon said defiantly, moving his shoulders in exaggerated fashion from side to side to illustrate how comfortable he was.

“I guess we will have to talk then, because I’m not budging either. Ok Einstein, what shall we talk about? Politics, religion, art, solving third world debt?”

“Let’s just talk about you and me,” Simon suggested

I guess with hindsight I should have realised what he was angling this conversation towards, but at the time I didn’t see it at all. I thought he meant the two of us, independent of each other. I had no reason to think otherwise, I had always seen Simon as a big brother.

“Alrighty then. How has your day been Simon, have you enjoyed your little self?” I asked, once again reverting to a silly voice. I’m not sure why, but I used to use an exaggerated child-like voice sometimes. I kept doing it well into my late teens, before I eventually phased it out. Thinking back, it must have been really annoying for whoever I was speaking to.

“I have actually, it’s been great,” Simon replied with a contented look on his face, “I think Will enjoyed it too.”

“He definitely did,” I said, back in my normal voice, “there’s nothing better than a toddler’s laugh, is there?”

“No, he’s a great little boy, Nicky, I’m sure you must be very proud of him.”

“I am, he’s not having the sort of life I wanted him to, which is a shame, so it is extra special when I hear him laughing like he did today.”

“What do you mean ‘not having the sort of life I wanted him to’?” Simon asked quizzically.

“You know...his father’s abandoned him, he has a teenage single mother, we’re not exactly rich....”

This comment, said without a great deal of thought, seemed to rile Simon. He is a very laid back man, so it would be wrong to say that he was fuming about it, but a visible frown and his subsequent tone indicated he was not in agreement.

“How do you define rich, Nicky?”

“We’re not exactly millionaires, Simon.”

“No, but you have a roof over your head, you have food, clothing, central heating, happiness...”

“Happiness? I can’t exactly say that being a teenage, single Mum was ever an ambition of mine.”

“So you’re unhappy?”

“I’m not exactly jumping for joy.”

“Nicky, I’ve seen you and Will most days in the last twelve months. A year ago, fair enough, Will was only a small baby and Jason had swanned off, so there were reasons for you being down in the dumps, but I’ve seen first hand how you’ve bounced back from that. To me, I would say you seem happy and I would say Will is very happy, because he has a mother who adores him.
Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, Nicky. You have a lot to be thankful for.”

“I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself,” I said defensively and feeling a little upset that Simon would jump down my throat for a passing comment.

“It sounded to me like you were.”

“I wasn’t,” I insisted despite realising I probably was.

“Well, that’s alright then.”

“I’ll have you know, Simon Strong, I am grateful for a lot of things in my life.”

“Like what?”

“Food, water, shelter, health, especially Will’s health and his unconditional love. Let me see, I’m also thankful to have my Dad, even you, I’m glad to have you as a friend, Simon.”

“Even me, eh?” Simon said warmly, as if I had now been forgiven.

“Yes, even you, Simon. Don’t let your head swell up out of all proportion, but I’m not sure I would have
got through the last couple of years without your friendship.”

“Nicky, you would have been fine,” Simon replied earnestly.

“I’m not so sure, Simon. Two years ago, when Jason did the dirty on me, I needed a shoulder to cry on. I needed someone who knew me, who would support me regardless of what sort of mood I was in or whether I looked like a bag of shite. I wasn’t flooded with offers, Simon, you were the only one who stepped up to the plate. You’ve been a really, really good friend to me. Thank you, Simon.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Simon replied, a little awkwardly, as he fidgeted under my legs.

“I know, but I want to.”

“So where do we go from here?”

It was my turn to look at him quizzically.

“What do you mean, Simon?”

“OK. You just said the last two years have been tough for you, I’ve been there to help you through them and now things have picked up. What happens now?”

“Simon, I really don’t know what you are getting at?”

He was making me feel on edge. I wasn’t used to our conversations having this sort of intensity.

“Nicky, I’ve helped you fix your broken wing, but now it’s fixed and you can fly again, what happens now? Do I just set you free and watch as you fly off into the sunset?”

“I’m not exactly going to do that, am I? There’s a little bird in my nest, with his big gob stretched wide open begging for food, I’m not exactly going to fly off and leave him.”

“I know that, Nicky, but I’m asking whether you need me.”

“Of course I do, Simon, we’ll always be friends, you know that.”

“Will we? We didn’t see much of each other when Jason was on the scene.”

“That doesn’t mean we weren’t friends, Simon!”

“I know, but during that time with Jason you didn’t need me.”

“It’s different now though.”

“It won’t be when you get a new boyfriend.”

“I won’t get a new boyfriend.”

“Ever?”

I must have looked at Simon like he had been struck down by some temporary madness, as that’s honestly what I thought must have happened. This friendly, caring man had suddenly gone all weird on me.

“Simo
n, this is silly, I’m only nineteen, I can’t say whether or not I’m ever going to have another boyfriend in the rest of my life, but I certainly won’t be getting one soon.”

There was an awkward silence that prevailed for perhaps fifteen seconds. At the time I thought it was because Simon was digesting what I had said, but then he asked inquisitively,

“Do you think I could ever be your boyfriend?”

I should have given more thought to
what Simon was asking. The thirty five year old version of me certainly would have done, but I was just nineteen years old, the art of pausing and reflecting was not something I had learnt. If I had been a little more worldly wise, I would have been more sympathetic to Simon’s feelings, but instead I just blurted out my response without as much as a thought.

“No, of course not, that would be weird!”

“Oh...ok.”

Those two little words were all he needed to say. They were the words of a man whose pride was hurt. I felt uncomfortable and a little guilty, but still wasn’t completely sure why. I tried to backpedal a little.

“Do you not think it would be weird, Simon?”

“I’m not sure.”

Simon said it quietly in a despondent, embarrassed tone. Only now did I finally grow a brain and realise that this was what he had been hinting at throughout the conversation. I felt the need to justify my opinion in a way that would limit the damage as much as possible. I took his hand which he was reluctant to give to me.

“Simon, look at what’s happened with me and Jason McLaren. We were friends at school, it developed into a romantic relationship and then we split up. I’m now dreading the next time I have to speak to him. I look forward to seeing you, Simon, What if we got together and then we split up? Our friendship would be destroyed like my friendship with Jason has been.”