Charlie
Ben answers the door to me with a kiss and a glass of wine.
“Hiya honey, it’s nearly ready.” He wipes his hands on his apron to gather me up into a hug. “I made you some pigs in blankets as well. I know how you like them.”
I did. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion those buggers were the deciding factor in me coming over.
He ushers me into the living room where he has the table sat with nice little napkins and sauces.
I plonk myself deep into the sofa, my stomach churning in anticipation. Ben was an amazing cook. It was one of the reasons why we worked so well.
“Voila!” He emerges from the kitchen with two gigantic plates of yummy stodgy food. Another night laying on my back, groaning for the wrong reasons.
“This looks great.” I smile happily at the feast, and he leans forward to kiss me.
As his tongue enters my mouth, I close my eyes and try to get into the moment. My tongue responds, but my head isn’t behaving.
I imagine I’m in another mouth.
An obnoxious, arrogant Scottish mouth.
Damn it, Charlie, focus!
As we emerge, I look into Ben’s face and see our relationship correctly for the first time.
My chest tightens. I can’t do this anymore, go through these motions. Don’t get me wrong, the guy is one in a million. One of the warmest, kindest boyfriends I’ve ever had.
But not for me. I want the fear of wanting someone so much that you think you are going to faint. Fear that makes your throat clam up so you forget how to take in air when they speak to you.
Julie says this is typical of me. I stay in relationships far longer than I should because I feel guilty about ending it.
“Ben,” I start in a small voice.
“Yes, honey,” he smiles back between forkfuls of mass potato.
Oh hell, there is no point wasting good pigs in blankets. I’ll try again after the meal.
“This is delicious.”
I shovel the food into my mouth as if the government has just announced shortages.
After the pigs in blankets, we settle down on the sofa to watch a film. He’s brought out my favorite dessert, a sticky toffee pudding with whipped cream.
My stomach gurgles in protest as more is pushed into it than it can hold.
He tries to snuggle into me, and I sit upright. I can’t procrastinate anymore. Do it. Do it. Do it. I scream inwardly.
“Ben, we need to talk,” I rush out the words and take a large swig of wine.
He puts his plate down. “Damn, that’s a serious line to say. Why am I hoping that you just want to talk about the plot?”
I smile sadly. “No, it’s not about the film. It’s us. I just don’t think-” “What?” He stares at me open-mouthed.
“That it’s working anymore,” I gulp mouthfuls of air. “I think we are better as friends.”
There. I said it.
“What?” He rubs his face. “I don’t understand. Why?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes on the carpet. “I still love you, but it’s more sisterly or motherly now if you get my drift.”
He leans forward and puts his head in his hands, small whimpering noises coming from him. I can’t stand this; I want to retract my painful words.
“I don’t want to hurt you. We can still be friends, of course, but-”
Yes, perhaps we can be good friends! We are more like friends at the moment anyway, sans sex. He could still cook for me if he wanted. I would even let him cook the pigs in blankets!
“You have to work at a relationship, Charlie,” he replies in a clipped voice. “You can’t just magically keep the spark without trying.”
“I know,” I say in anguish. “I should have shaved my legs more. I stopped putting in the effort.
This is my fault.”
I watch in despair as he crumples in front of me, tears flowing down his cheeks.
“Eight months, Charlie. Did it not mean anything?”
“Of course it did! But sometimes relationships just run their course,” I say, rubbing his shoulder.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “This is so unexpected.”
Is it? If I was honest with myself, the relationship was over months ago. I just didn’t read the signs.
“Is there someone else?” He sits up.
“No!”
“Is it Stevie?”
“No,” I reply, taken back. “You know Stevie is a mate. He’s seeing Cat, for Christ’s sake!” “Is it to do with my Mum? I know she is full-on, Charlie, but she only wants -” “No!” I interrupt sharply. Although his Mum did act like …..
“I don’t know what else to say,” I add softly.
“I’m sorry, Ben,” I fixate on the carpet. “You’re right; I’m a terrible girlfriend. I put work before us. I’m always tired. I can’t stop farting. And you, you are amazing -” “Don’t tell me I’m a nice guy,” He cuts in gruffly. “Just leave it.” “I’ll get a cab home.” I offer.
He nods, the tears dripping down his chin. There is something niggling at me, though. The thought of going back to a room full of Ben’s jumpers and underpants. I had to dot the ‘T’s before I left. “Ben,” I start. “I will return your jumpers and underpants.” He stares at the floor, not responding.
“I can separate the clean ones from the worn ones if you like?” I add helpfully. “For God’s sake, Charlie, as if I bloody care about my pants!”
“I really am sorry, Ben.”
He responds with a strained smile. “I know, Charlie. It’s not your fault.” “It’s not?” I ask hopefully.