Chapter 6

Christmas is really the only time my siblings and I, Kevin Connors, find ourselves together in our parents' house. This particular year, Patrick was bringing his steady girlfriend, Marie, before driving away the day after Christmas to her parents' place. Seemed it was getting serious between them.

I was somewhat surprised that my parents assigned them the guest bedroom, leaving Lorraine and I to fight over the remaining bedroom with a double bed. We tossed a coin and I lost. I was not particularly bothered, since the room I was left with, while being very small and having only a single bed, was my old room.

The three of us got on well together, though sadly we saw little of each other over the course of the year. Lorraine was working and living in Newcastle and Patrick was in Leeds.

I had my parents to myself for Friday night. Lorraine arrived on the Saturday morning and Patrick and Marie would join us on Sunday afternoon.

Lorraine was always fun. She was loud and always happy, always laughing. Once settled in and having assured our parents she would be in all night, she dragged me out shopping.

Of all the women in the world, for me there is only one who makes shopping fun: Lorraine. She prattled on about life, asking my advice on clothes, and on presents for Mike and the parents. After an exhausting two hour marathon, she propelled me into a coffee shop and ordered coffee and sinfully creamy cakes.

"Something's not right in your life Li'l-bro," she said seriously.

Li'l-bro was her joke. Mike was 'Big-bro', even though now as adults, I was three inches taller than he was.

"Come on, spill, what's wrong?"

Lorraine was like that. When I started walking Nicola to school, she caught on immediately and teased me that I was in 'lurve' as she put it. When I went to spend the deflowering weekend with Nicola, she knew exactly what I was doing and even covered for me at home. She was always one highly perceptive girl, now a woman and even more so. She also knew when I tried to bullshit her. Only the truth would do.

"You know about a BBC programme on Sunday morning called 'Sunday Love Songs'?" I asked her.

She did, though she did not listen to it. Very wise, I thought. I then told her the whole sorry tale, ending by showing her the letter. Yes, I was still carrying it round with me! Inside pocket, against my heart of all things!

"Always thought you were special," she said abstractedly, then shook herself, "OK!"

"OK?" I puzzled.

"Catalogue of misunderstandings. I could go into that in detail, but it boils down to one thing. She is madly, besottedly in love with you."

I opened my mouth to speak but she had not finished.

"And you are in love with her."

She sat back with a satisfied smile, as if she had solved all the world's problems. Not mine!

I sat forward, ready to refute her assessment.

"Don't argue," she said with a dismissive gesture, her eyes sparkling, "I'm right."

Ever the optimist!

I collapsed, waving vaguely at her to continue. I realised I had missed my gorgeous little sister.

"She fell in love with you when you had that weekend with her at school. You must be some lover, Bro! But she had no experience of boys in general, so she went ahead and got it. Oh, yes, even down among us a couple of years behind, it was common knowledge that she was playing the field. God! Did we feel jealous – she could get any guy she wanted without any effort.

"And that story that she ended up with you after the prom was true?" she asked with a giggle.

"It was a trick."

"Of course it was."

"No," I said petulantly, "it was Cloë. She wanted Nick's partner. I ended up taking Nicola home."

"God!" she expostulated. "You're still so naïve! It was the other way round! It was Nicola that wanted you! Cloë and she organised it between them."

"You mean?"

"Yes."

"Oh, bugger!" I had suffered another revelation. "I turned her down, I insisted on a condom, and she didn't want to use one, so I walked away."

"I'm impressed!" she laughed. "You see how hard that must have hit her, don't you?"

I explained about my comment about Chlamydia, and her response. She smiled lovingly.

"Kev," she said sweetly. "You showed you cared even when you turned her down. Can't you see how that will have affected her? How many other boys would even have turned her down? But to care enough for her to warn her, well!"

I smiled. What else could I do? Her praise was worth ten times anyone else's.

"I think that when you went your separate ways," she went on, "and she had various relationships, unconsciously she compared them to what she had with you–"

"I can't believe," I interrupted her, "that one weekend of sex–"

"No, no, no!" she interrupted in her turn. "You're thinking like a typical male! It was the whole package she missed and compared others to, all those years of friendship in lower school, your strength in refusing her, and yes, the sex that weekend, all rolled into one."

I shook my head, but she was continuing.

"So now we come to recent events. She's had a number of relationships, no casual stuff any more. None have been totally right for her. Then perhaps she was reminiscing with a friend and she remembers you and what you did for her. She decides to get in touch. So what does she do?"

"That bloody stupid programme on the radio," I answered.

"I don't think she was expecting you to be listening. I think it was a romantic gesture, hinting to the world in general and perhaps you in particular that she loves you. Perhaps one of her flatmates dared her to. I'll bet she was staggered when you replied. I bet there was a delay before she got in touch?"

"Well, yes," I said thoughtfully. Sarah had told me as much and this had been my conclusion when I got Nicola's letter. Where did my sister get all this insight from?

"You both had a wonderful weekend?" It was phrased as a question though it was clear she knew the answer.

"Yes. Now I think about it, it was very intimate and almost restful."

"And you didn't make a pass at her?"

"Well, no. She was a guest and we hadn't seen each other for ten years. I didn't know what she wanted."

"You see?" she said triumphantly. "She knows you have a sex life; that you have sex with more than one woman. Most men she's been out with would want to fuck her and would show it, but not you. You show her respect and friendship as you did in school. She sees you are the same person you were – and she can't get you out of her system. Your aloofness turns her on; makes her want you more!

"Did you tell your girlfriends what happened?" she asked.

"Yes."

"They told you you were in love with her, didn't they?"

"Well, yes," I admitted.

"See, we women are all agreed! We just know."

"We've only seen each other for one weekend, I don't think so."

"Yes! You only met for one weekend. You haven't seen each other since, yet look at the pair of you! She wrote you a love letter, and you are unhappy."

"No I'm not!"

She gave me the look. Perhaps I was.

"As I said, you're unhappy – or angry, and you said Sarah said Nicky was depressed after that daft misunderstanding. She tried to to be heroic by saying good-bye, she didn't mean it, Kevin!

"Li'l bro," she concluded, "You have to see her."

"Great idea, Lorraine," I retorted scornfully. "I don't know where she is. Remember?"

"Kevin," she reproved me, "She'll be back home for Christmas won't she? Once Christmas Day is over, go to her parents' house and talk to her."

Was it possible? Certainly we all came home for Christmas, but would she? I began to feel excited and a little apprehensive. I nodded to my wise little sister. She smiled smugly.

I found myself thinking over Lorraine's assessment of my situation as I lay in bed that night. My wandering thoughts began with anticipation of seeing her after Christmas, and sharing our feelings for one another. After all, we were in love with each other weren't we? Everyone kept telling me that.

I sat up abruptly. No! Wait a minute. Think things through. It wasn't as easy as that. I should use my head.

Something about that letter gave me an edgy feeling. Looking back on the past few days and weeks, I'd shown the letter mainly to women. All, including my sister, told me with pity for my stupidity and blindness that she was the love of my life and I was the love of hers. Female intuition based on one letter. Having read the letter they interpreted all the other events in the glow of that loving missive.

On analysis, how loving was it? If she loved me to distraction, and if I was the only real love of her life, that heroic 'setting me free' did not ring true. Not at all. If she wanted me so badly, she knew where I was, why want to 'set me free'?

After the disastrous misunderstanding and my email, she made no further effort to contact me. She could have emailed back daily until I gave in and replied. She knew where I lived, she could have camped on my doorstep until I conceded her point, which was valid enough in its way.

She did nothing. She was depressed was she? But when Sarah urged her to allow her to contact me, she refused. When she found out I might be coming, she disappeared totally. It made no sense. One thing was clear: she did not want to see me. The love of her life? Ha!

The card and letter professing all her lifelong love, effectively told me to get lost.

Those thoughts provoked me into contemplating our relationship from start to finish. A childhood friendship. In fact that was probably all it ever was. When she made contact so many years later perhaps it was nostalgia, a longing for an innocent life.

Then that final year. We had sex for a whole weekend. It was good, and yes I was good.

Then she fucked half the males in the year and I did half the females. We were never a couple that year. Never.

Then? A few emails and after that, nothing. Ten years later she comes onto me, tentatively it is true, and we spend another weekend together, this time with no sex. She is seeing someone else at the same time, ostensibly to 'try one last time' out of a sense of obligation to him. She lies about him to me by omission.