that.’
I couldn’t bear that either, but he doesn’t seem as melancholy today as he was when he said that, so I unpack our picnic and he puts on a record. I recognize it right away as one of his favourites: ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’ it himself on the guitar, but today he stands quietly listening to it as though it’s making him think about it in a way he hasn’t before. Perhaps he is a little bit melancholy after all.
When it finishes he puts on Mozart’s Night Music and it makes me smile because I can play it much better now, and with both hands. Of course this is the orchestral version, nothing like my amateur flailing around the basic keys, nevertheless whenever I hear it, it reminds me of the first time he put his hands on mine to teach me.
We eat and listen to more music and I notice after a while that he isn’t saying very much. He definitely seems sad about something but when I ask what it is he just shakes his head. I think he’s worried about us going back to school and how difficult it’s going to be pretending we don’t mean anything to one another, so I go to sit on his lap and put my arms around him.
He catches my wrists in his hands and holds them between us as he looks into my eyes; it’s for such a long time that I start to feel nervous. It’s like he’s seeing me for the first time, or that he doesn’t really know me … I don’t know what he’s thinking.
He says, softly, ‘I’m not going back for the new term.’
I hardly have time to take this in when he says,
‘I’m going to America to join my brother.’
I feel confused, frightened even, but then I realize what he’s waiting for me to say so I say it quickly. ‘I’ll come too. I don’t care about school …’
‘No, listen,’ he interrupts. ‘Your schooling is important …’
‘No. I’ll come …’
‘Cherie, you can’t. You must try to understand that there cannot be a future for us.’
I shoot up from his lap crying, ‘No! You don’t mean that. You want us to be together. You’re always saying it …’
‘In a different world, at a different time …’
‘Stop!’ I cry, covering my ears with my hands. ‘You can’t go to America and leave me here, I won’t let you. I’ll come too. I want to come …’
‘Sssh, I know you do, but it isn’t possible. You’re too young, and this, what’s happened between us, it’s more beautiful than I can ever put into words, but it should never … It wouldn’t have …’ He pushes a hand through his hair, and I grab it harshly.
‘Please let me come,’ I implore him. ‘It’s what you promised, that we would go to America together …’
‘No, I didn’t say that. I know it’s what you’ve told yourself, but …’ He grips my shoulders as I start to sob hysterically. He shakes me and holds me tight until I quieten down and when I look at him I can see how hard he’s struggling, how much he hates himself for doing this – but not as much as I’m starting to hate him.
I want to lash out at him, to smash all the records and pummel my fists into his face and into my own. I can’t bear it. I have to make him understand that I can’t stay here without him, I have to go too. ‘Please,’ I beg, choking the words into his chest. ‘Please take me. I’ll do anything.’
‘I can’t,’ he says and it sounds so final.
‘’Why? I don’t understand …’
He takes hold of me again and says, ‘You know how hard it can be to tell the truth sometimes?’
I want to say that I don’t, that I just want him to stop.
‘Well this is one of those times.’ He drops his head but I know there are tears in his eyes and it’s making me panic.
‘There’s someone I’ve never told you about,’ he says. ‘I know I should have, but … I …’ He can’t get any more words out and I’m trapped in the silence like a terrified mouse before the spring comes down. ‘I have a girlfriend,’ he whispers, ‘and she’s coming with me.’
Shock pushes the blood from my veins. I stare at him, unable to believe what he said because it doesn’t make any sense. He’s lying, because how can he have a girlfriend