1
" ... And I'd remember who I could chat to, and go back to them the next week, for some chat and some friendliness. That's what you do in life, isn't it?
At Marble Arch, we said goodbye. I stood and watched him go, head down, rushing. Oxford Street was so crowded. Edwyn hunched his shoulders, braced, dodged, and soon enough he disappeared. "
― Gwendoline Riley , First Love
6
" Michael's reply, when it came, wasn't unfriendly. It was toneless. It was like it was done with mirrors, I remember thinking, or realizing, during one of those walks, offering no advance on an image of my own angst, sort of trapped there. 'Sounds like things are going pretty great with you!!' he'd written. I shrank at that. Still, being abroad, at least, being out of it somehow, I found it was possible to feel less implicated. Less accounted for. And finally, climbing the stairs one evening, hanging my bag on a chair: unaccounted for. "
― Gwendoline Riley , First Love
7
" He stared at me for a couple of seconds, then picked up his cutlery, hunched over his plate. Outside, behind him, the wind carried the rain, the lamp posts quivered. I found myself thinking of certain people I knew--people not that far away--how surprised they'd be (wouldn't they?) to see me sitting there with that bright, bland expression on my face, trying to fence with this nonsense. Or had I been very naive? Was this what life was like, really, and everyone knew it but me? "
― Gwendoline Riley , First Love
9
" So it was both strange, and dreadful--I knew it--to feel that I was managing him, in a way. Beyond bringing him out of himself, or my genuine interest; that I was maintaining this keen and appreciative front as a way to keep him calm, or to distract him. Like--I don't know--throwing some sausages to a guard dog... His scorn would finish us both, I was sure. It was a deep instinct, though, as I was finding out. The deepest, in this new world? I had to hope not. But I was very much without bearings, that first year. "
― Gwendoline Riley , First Love
12
" I returned it with a letter saying I didn't want to stay in touch. 'I'm not interested,' I wrote. 'This isn't working and I want to get on with my life.' Stupid letter. Wrongheaded. How did my father read it? As a challenge, of course. A 'spicing up,' even. What followed was a struggle. There was nowhere he wasn't, suddenly, and his efforts only drew strength from each refusal. It was like trying to deny an excited octopus. Repeated unhookings. It took a sort of disappearing act on my part, in the end, to get away. After which, he started sending my brother tickets. (My mother told me.) But six months in, with no reply, those letters stopped. "
― Gwendoline Riley , First Love
13
" I wrote down, things like:
Untangle yourself. Stop saying you love him. You're wearing a groove in your mind. Say it when you mean it. Save money. Small steps. Save money every month. Remember you're a grown woman now. Be more proud and more relaxed. Don't feel persecuted by stupid students. Don't think about them. Don't let your mind get colonized. Get on with your work. Don't pet him. Don't act like a baby. Don't be a cat. Be decent to him and to yourself. Respect yourself and him. See your friends. Don't be sly. Don't be deceitful. Don't snoop. Don't ask him questions for the sake of it, it's lonely-making to sit and listen when he's said it before, when he won't let you in. Keep your footing. Leave the room if he calls you a name. If you save money you can leave the flat if he's nasty. Stand up for yourself but don't waste your energy. This is your time and your energy. Don't try and 'manage' him. Be natural and let him be natural. That's what love is. No more cramped feelings, on either side.
How did these small steps fare? Strangely. Keeping myself to myself more. Sometimes it felt like we'd done it. Sometimes not. Sometimes he whimpered in pain and I was Mrs Pusskins again, and what was wrong with that? It felt soothing. Coming home from work, standing on the landing, he'd open his mouth and lift his arms for a hug, and we'd hold each other and I'd feel safe and happy, with someone I could love in a natural way.
Once, when I was in the living room after he'd gone to bed, he came in and did a little pirouette in his Y-fronts, trying to get me to look. I did look up and smile, but I didn't run to him, like I used to, didn't fuss him. Was that wrong? He performed a hurt little moue in the proscenium, before walking off slowly with an 'I say' and a sort of half toddlerish wobbling walk.
'That was a good dance!' I called after him, stupidly.
I did see my friends more, stayed later at work to do my own work. "
― Gwendoline Riley , First Love
