Page 50 of Wish You Were Here
I look at Ben, and he looks so happy, and I am glad for him, but I can’t help the pangs of jealousy because a part of me wishes it could be with me. That I could be his new girlfriend, which is fucking weird, I know, because I’m with Brad – I am literally on his bed. I suppose I just don’t know how I feel, and I can’texplain my relationship with Ben, even to myself. The thing is, right now, all I know is that he’s with Jemma in London and I am with Brad in Sydney, and that’s just the way it is. I have to be happy for him like he has to be happy for me.
Ben I talk for another five minutes before he has to leave and I have to get back to Brad, and so we say goodbye and we will FaceTime again soon. Before I head back into the living room, I sit on the bed and compose myself. What am I doing? Why do I keep having these feelings for a man who lives across the world? A man I have absolutely no chance of being with and yet, for some reason, wondering what it would be like if he were my boyfriend instead of Brad. I know it’s irrational, probably doomed to failure, but I can’t help how I feel.
‘You all right?’ says Brad, appearing at the door.
‘Yeah, all good,’ I reply, walking towards him, and I kiss him. He pulls me closer to him, and I can feel his rock-hard chest pressed against me. We walk back towards the bed, and we fall onto it together, and I lose myself in Brad. All six-foot two inches of hairless, tanned, muscular Brad and I forget about Ben for a moment. Surely any woman in Sydney – with the exception of Jess – would give their right arm for a man like Brad. I am going to enjoy this because this is good, and it is real – something my relationship with Ben can never be.
21
Ben
I’m in bed with Jemma, and we have just woken up together again. This is the third straight day she has stayed over at my flat, and it is beginning to feel like something serious already. I think because of the two years we invested at university, as soon as we begin spending time together again, delicately balancing on the early beams of a new relationship, we are already so much further along the dating line than we would otherwise be. What’s the dating line? Every relationship starts out at the beginning of the dating line. Think of the dating line as a normal timeline, and at the beginning is moment zero – the second you begin dating. It could be a first date or the moment you stare into each other’s eyes and realise, hang on a minute, there is something going on here – that’s the beginning of the dating line. From then on, it’s just a matter of moving along the line with things like meeting friends, meeting parents, going on your first holiday together, leaving items at each other’s flats, going toIKEAtogether and a hundred other little things until eventually you either break-up or you decide to go the whole hog and get engaged. The thing is, with anyone else, I would be starting at moment zero, but with Jemma, we’re already somewhere in the middle.
We’re in bed talking, she has her head resting on my chest, and outside it’s dark and cold. The world is slowly waking up.
‘I was thinking,’ says Jemma from below me.
‘Sounds ominous, like the time Simon said he had an idea.’
‘What was the idea?’
‘That we would save hundreds of pounds a year if we started brewing our own beer.’
‘What happened?’
‘We spent a fortune setting up a small brewery in our flat, creating our own signature brew, Bimon’s Beer—’
‘Ben and Simon’s beer, Bimon’s Beer?’
‘Correct. We spent time researching how to make different types of beer, we bought a kit, the best ingredients from Europe, and spent two months making our first pint.’
‘And?’
‘It tasted like piss. We threw most of it away. Although Simon still has four hundred Bimon’s Beer labels he had printed off, a dozen t-shirts and a couple of tote bags. I don’t know why he got so invested in the merch when it was just us.’
‘Okay, well my thought wasn’t quite so much about alcohol, than it was about you meeting my parents again,’ says Jemma. She sits up, looking at me, but it’s hard to fully focus on her face because she’s not wearing a bra, and so her breasts are right there, and Jemma has incredible breasts. My eyes are drawn to them, and I have to force myself to stop it and focus. ‘I know we’ve only been back together for a short time, Benji, but I told my parents about us and they’re excited to see you again.’
Bear in mind we have only been dating for a few weeks, but again, we are already further along the dating line than we normally would be at this point. I understand her question, but also, it still feels quite soon to be sitting down for a cosy dinner with her mum and dad.
‘But I’ve already met your parents, Jem. Many times. We shared a Christmas together one year, remember? Your dad tried the Nigella turkey recipe, and we all agreed it was thebest any of us had ever had. Your mum bought me socks, your brother got me drunk on a bottle of Tequila and your gran kept calling me Ian.’
‘I know you’ve already met my parents, but that was eight years ago, Benji. I want you to meet them again,’ says Jemma, and it’s still hard to fully focus because she’s topless, but I also realise this is something of a turning point in our fledgling relationship. It has only been a few weeks, but it’s moving quickly. Lightning fast, now that I think about it, and she wants me to meet her parents again, which is understandable, but I still haven’t told her about Saskia.
There have been moments over the last few weeks when I should have mentioned Saskia, but for whatever reason, I just didn’t. I think about saying it, but when it comes to opening my mouth and saying the actual words, nothing happens. Instead, I just offer her a cup of tea. She must think I drink an awful lot of tea. I’m not sure why I can’t tell her about Saskia, but obviously it isn’t good. I have come up with a few theories on the subject. Theory number one: The guilty theory. I feel guilty about my feelings towards Saskia because, clearly, I feel something towards her that’s more than just friendship. Theory number two: The jealousy theory. Jemma won’t understand my relationship with Saskia, will be jealous and will ask me to stop FaceTiming with her. I would fully understand this point of view, but the thought of not speaking with Saskia doesn’t bear thinking about. Theory number three: The not quite the truth theory. I will tell her about Saskia, but I will leave out key information like our ongoing sexual attraction and the fact that I think about her all the time. Telling her I have an online friend in Australia I occasionally speak to is one thing but telling her the whole truth is something else.
I look at Jemma, and I want to fully invest in our relationship. I really like her and could potentially see ustogether in the long-term. If I were at work and presenting two different properties to a client, and Saskia and Jemma represented the options, I would one hundred per cent be telling them to go all in on Jemma. She is the sensible choice, the more reliable option with a guaranteed long-term return on investment. Jemma is offering me everything I have ever wanted. She is a fully renovated investment property in a prime location, and I would be a bloody fool not to snap her up. Saskia is a gamble property, which could pay off big time and change my life, but it could easily all go wrong, and I could lose everything. As an asset manager, there is no way I would instruct a client to even consider Saskia when Jemma is ready and waiting to go. Always play the odds.
‘I’d love to meet your parents again,’ I say, and Jemma looks at me, smiles and then she moves herself on top of me. I’m lying on my back, and she is sitting astride me in just a pair of knickers. Clearly, something is afoot.
‘Fantastic! I’ll let them know, and we can get something in the calendar. In the meantime, Mr Armstrong, what are we going to do about this?’ says Jemma, reaching a hand down and feeling the bulge that has suddenly sprung up in my underwear. I reach a hand up and feel her breasts, then she leans down and kisses me, and now definitely isn’t the time to mention Saskia.
As it turned out, Abigail stayed over with Simon last night, so when Jemma and I leave my bedroom, Abigail and Simon are already eating breakfast in front of the television. Things in the flat have changed over the last month. It wasn’t that long ago that Simon and I were both firmly established singletons. Mornings were us, drinking coffee, nibbling on toast, on the sofa watching TV, lamenting the fact we were destined never to have sex again. Simon would go off and make videos, I would head into the office, then we would reconvene in the evenings, drinkbeer, eat dinner, on the sofa, watching TV, lamenting the fact we were destined never to have sex again. This was our life for so long, but suddenly we both have girlfriends.
‘This is nice,’ says Simon, as Jemma and I join him and Abigail on the sofa with cups of coffee. ‘The four of us. Oh, I know, we should go on a double date!’
‘Why?’ I reply. ‘We can hang out here whenever we want.’
‘Because it’s nice,’ says Abigail.
