I Unlove You (21 page)

“
I suppose
so,
”
she says, resting her book on her knees and falling back
into her chair.
“
No harm in looking.
”

“
Definitely. And this led my dad
to ask another question, which again I nearly had an answer for,
because it
’
s always been part
of the plan.
”

“
The plan?
”

“
You know,
our
life.
Our future and marriage.
”

“
I see.
”

“
I know we
haven
’
t spoken a lot about it in the past, but
it
’
s always been part of the future I imagined, and now
we
’
re having a baby it makes sense.
”

“
How romantic.
”

“
I didn
’
t mean it like
that,
”
I say, my fidgety fingers scratching faster against my
chinos.
“
I figured we
’
d get married before
having children, but I suppose life just happens
sometimes.
”

“
Jesus, Aus.
Really?
”
she says, rolling her eyes.

“
Shit. I didn
’
t mean it
like that, either.
”
I sigh and take a deep breath.
“
Okay
…
I love you and always
have, and I can
’
t imagine a future
without you. When I think about where we are in ten
years
’
time, it
’
s a bit of a
mystery, but we
’
re married with a
house and a family, and so long as we have that,
I
’
m happy.
”

Smiling, she reaches for my hands and frantic
fingers.
“
Aus
—“

“
Like you said, university feels
like another lifetime away, and I can
’
t fathom where the
last few months have gone. Soon, we
’
ll be parents. Soon,
we
’
ll be thirty. I just want to do
what
’
s right by you and our family. For weeks
I
’
ve said there
’
s no rush, but I
suppose speaking to my dad last night made me realise there
is.
”

She
slides her fingers into my palms and squeezes my fingers to a
standstill.
“
I know what you
’
re saying, and
you
’
re right, these last few months have flown by. But I
honestly don
’
t think
there
’
s a rush when it comes to marriage.
We
’
re together, aren
’
t we? What does
marriage prove? What does getting married before we have this baby
prove?
”

“
I know, but
…”

“
Sweetie,
”
she says, moving her
right hand to my shoulder.
“
I love you, and
you
’
re doing great, but these last few weeks have been
hard for you. Do you really think worrying about marriage and a
wedding will help? And we
’
ll move in with each
other, and find a house, and play happy families, but right now, we
just need to focus on this little baby inside me.

“
That
’
s what
we
’
re saving up for. That
’
s where our focus
needs to be. Let
’
s not complicate
life with anything else right now, okay?
”

Biting my upper lip, I sigh and relax my shoulders.
“
I know.
I
’
m sorry. I guess speaking to Dad last
night
—“

“
You have nothing to apologise
for. You
’
re here, and so am I. That
’
s all
that matters.
”

Nodding, I rest my head on her arms.
“
I know. Thank
you.
”

“
Come on,
”
she says, pushing
herself up out of her chair.
“
Let
’
s go for that walk
and talk, and, who knows, maybe we
’
ll see an apartment
we like.
”
She reaches for my hand.
“
Please stop worrying
about all the little things. Everything is fine, sweetie. It always
will be.
”

As
soon I touch her skin, the back of my neck warms. I keep worrying
about so much, about the tiny invisible woes that may or may not
ever happen. I dwell on money and responsibility as if they
wouldn
’
t exist without a baby on the way. I focus on
the fear, whereas all I should focus on is her.

I
’
ve drifted through a teen-hood of dreams like
everyone else, but she
’
s my constant. The
jobs change, and the places I live, and where I ask her to marry
me, but the one person who remains by my side in each fantasy
is
B
. Maybe everything isn
’
t fine right now,
but it will be.

It
’
s happening sooner than I ever imagined it
would, but it
’
s no different now
than if it happened in five years
’
time. It
’
s me and
B
against
everyone else, and soon we
’
ll have another
member to join our band. Our band. The only band
I
’
ve ever wanted to be part of.

AUGUST 6
^TH
- THE BAND ROOM:

The
sanctuary of the band room is a strange one. In its damp and cold
form, it
’
s one of the most abysmal and grim rooms
I
’
ve ever ventured into. I shouldn
’
t enjoy
spending time here, but I do. It
’
s a home of sorts,
and these four dirty walls - I have no idea what the original
colour was supposed to be - have seen us create, practice, and
execute songs crafted from nothing.

I
recall a time I couldn
’
t imagine creating
my own lyrics or music. As my father taught me one chord after
another, I revelled in the creation of others.
“
Why do people create
their own songs?
”
I asked, a prepubescent slave to music.
“
It
can
’
t be as fun as playing songs by The Beatles or Rolling
Stones.
”

Grinning, but keeping his eyes on his strumming fingers, he
smiled.
“
I
’
ll remind you of saying that when
you
’
re older, son.
”

At
some point, playing songs by others doesn
’
t quite cut it,
and as Joey and I fantasised about owning our own recording
studios, creating and writing became part of the process. The day
we rented this dirty, horrible room felt like a life-changing and
monumental one; as though we
’
d broken free of our
childhood.

“
We
’
ll never leave
here,
”
Joey said, pacing up and down, running his hand against the
greyish-blackish-brownish-greenish wall.
“
The drum kit can go
here,
”
he said, directing his arms in a semi-circle.
“
And
I
’
ll stand here, and you can stand
there,
”
he continued, pointing and hopping from one side of the red
carpet to the other.

He
was right, too. We never have left this place, despite having the
opportunity on several occasions. I don
’
t know why we
didn
’
t whilst we were at university, as travelling back
several times each week grew tiresome. Yet,
there
’
s something wonderful about this space that a
new room, or a clean room, or a bigger and more spacious room
couldn
’
t replicate.

“
I
’
m still buzzing
after last week,
”
Joey says, lounged next to me on the old leather couch
that
’
s seen too many spills and God-knows-what-else over
the years. He doesn
’
t bring girls back
here so much anymore, but whilst we were at school it became a
pilgrimage of sorts, and I
’
ve approached this
damn couch with caution ever since.
“
Everyone loved us.
Everyone. Best crowd ever.
”

With a can of warm beer in one hand, and the neck of my
guitar in the other, I rest my feet on the coffee table, which, in
actual fact, isn
’
t a table, so much
as an old door propped on four beer crates.
“
It was a good time.
You were on top form. Not seen you like that for
years.
”

“
I know, I miss that feeling. I
didn
’
t think I
’
d lost it, but I now
realise I have and I want it back. I want to be like when we first
started, when we played those old illegal school gigs when everyone
raved and crazed in a giant pile of sweaty
bodies.
”

“
You make it sound so
appealing.
”

“
Don
’
t pretend like you
don
’
t miss it too,
”
he says, drinking from his own can
of warm beer.
“
It was special back then, but,
”
he says, digging his
middle finger into my thigh,
“
it will be special
again.
”
He sighs and takes another swig of beer.
“
It
’
s a shame
you
’
ll miss it.
”

“
You kicking me out the band or
something?
”
I say, twisting towards him and laughing.

He
sighs again, this one heavier.
“
You
won
’
t be able to do this soon,
”
he says, folding his
arms.
“
It
’
s an end of an era, and you know
it.
”

“
Wait, because
I
’
m having a baby means I won
’
t be able to
play the bass. Is that what you
’
re
saying?
”

“
That
’
s exactly what
I
’
m saying. You
’
ll have dinner to
make and nappies to change and a wife to be at the mercy of.
There
’
s no chance you
’
ll be sat next to me
with a cool can of the good stuff in a few
months
’
time. The days of us relaxing on this amazing
couch, listening to The Pixies or The Smiths or The Ramones are
dead. The age of Joey and Aus, a superstar duo of guitar playing
amazingness, over. You killed
us
, brother.
You
’
ve killed
this
.
”