Page 56 of Wish You Were Here
‘But if she were here in London, do you think you’d be together?’
‘But she’s not, Jem.’
‘But if she was Benji, would you and I be together?’
This is an impossible question to answer because I don’t know the answer. Would Jemma and I still be together if Saskia were in London? Maybe not, but it’s a what if. What if Saffy wasn’t so awful, or Cressida wasn’t so emotionally damaged, or Annabelle didn’t consider every date a job interview, would Jemma and I still be together? You can’t play ‘what if’ scenarios like that because every single one could change the outcome of your life? Every other relationship could have altered my future with Jemma, but I understand why she has to ask.
‘The honest answer is, I don’t know,’ I say, and this is when Jemma starts to cry. To clarify, Jemma isn’t much of a crier. She does cry, obviously, but she isn’t the sort of highly strung emotional person who tears up at the drop of a hat. Once at university, we spent an entire evening watchingComic Relieftogether, and while she commented on how sad it was when they cut to the short films about the starving children in Africa, I was in floods. Fortunately, the comedy kept me just about on the right side of keeping my dignity. ‘Jem, I am with you. I want to be with you, and she is ten thousand miles away.’
‘But you wish she wasn’t,’ says a teary Jemma.
‘But it’s irrelevant because she isn’t here, and you are.’
‘But don’t you see, Benji, it doesn’t matter. You clearly have feelings for her.’
She stops and looks at me, her face full of sadness, and her eyes wet from the tears, and I want to tell her that I don’t have feelings for Saskia, but that would be a lie.
‘Jem, I—’
‘It’s either her or me, Benji.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘It’s her or me.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Either you choose me, or you choose her. You can’t have both of us in your life. I know it might sound a bit over the top, but I can’t be with you if the whole time we’re together you’re also FaceTiming with another person I know you like. It isn’t fair to me, and honestly, it isn’t fair to Saskia either. So, what’s it going to be?’
I can’t believe I have to answer this question now because I’m not ready. It’s a fair enough request from Jemma, but how am I supposed to respond? Can I never speak with Saskia again? We have only known each other for a couple of months, but she already feels like such an important part of my life. I look forward to our FaceTime dates and the messages we send each other almost daily. Sometimes she will send me a photo of something in Sydney that made her laugh, and without question, it will make me laugh too. I know all about her relationship issues with Jess, her boyfriend Brad and strange Brian. I know about her dad dying of cancer, how much it messed her up, and that she works in a care home for the elderly. She told me all about Lou Sanders, and that he has asked on multiple occasions to see her tits, but she’s worried about him and will be sad when he’s gone. I’ve heard her sing and know how much she wants to make a career out of it. I know she is afraid of heights, hates the noise of people eating in public, and loves coffee, fresh strawberries and the sound of waves hitting the beach in the morning. We have shared the most intimate details of our lives with each other, and the thought of just stopping feels impossible.
But I don’t want to lose Jemma. She’s my girlfriend, she’s here, and we might have a real future together. Saskia is in Australia, and realistically, is there even a chance we could make it work? I don’t want to answer her question, but I know that I have to. I look at her and then I say the first thing that comes to mind, and it breaks my heart into a million pieces.
24
Saskia
It’s early, and I am in the kitchen when Mum walks in, still in her pyjamas. I am making my morning oat milk flat white on Brian’s espresso machine. Brian only drinks ‘proper coffee’ – his words – so when he moved in, he brought along his top-of-the-line Breville espresso machine with him. I did have to sit through a two-hour introductory session with Brian before I was allowed to use the machine – despite working as a barista for almost three years in my early twenties – but I’m glad because I love my morning flat white. Mum starts pottering about the kitchen, and when I sit down with my coffee, she joins me. Mum’s never been a brekky person and will often just have a cup of tea, or occasionally a slice of toast.
‘How ya goin’, love?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, good.’
‘I can’t believe you’re going to be thirty soon. It barely feels like a few weeks since you were just a kid. I remember you sitting there with your cereal, your dad getting ready for work, and you wouldn’t stop talking. Such an earbasher. Always yabbering on about something.’
‘I can’t believe it’s been ten years since Dad died,’ I say, and even now whenever I say the words out loud, I feel it in my heart like a dull ache.
‘I know, love. He would be so proud of you.’
‘You think so?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about you? Are you proud of me?’ I ask before taking a sip of my coffee.
‘You know I am, love, but I just worry, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’
