I Unlove You (4 page)

“
Ermmm,
”
I stammer, unsure how to
answer.

“
For some reason she
doesn
’
t like it when I pay her compliment. How crazy
is that?
”
he says, sliding a fresh pint of beer to me.
“
Here
’
s round
one.
”

“
Cheers. I
’
ve no
idea, Joe. One of life
’
s
mysteries.
”

Rolling her eyes, Harriet shuffles along the bar.
“
Keep this
one out of trouble tonight, will you, Aus?
”

“
What he gets up to has nothing
to do with me,
”
I say, as I enjoy my first sip of
beer.

“
Why would you care if I found
myself in trouble, Harriet?
”
Joey counters.
“
I thought you
didn
’
t care what I got up to.
”
He smirks and leans
closer to her. Harriet sighs and purses her lips.

It is, apparently, this smirk that
drives women into an uncontrollable frenzy. I get it, in part,
because my best friend is an attractive guy. Six foot two, dirty
blonde hair he slicks to the left; thin eyes that house bright blue
secrets; strong cheeks and a defined jaw, and a full but groomed
black beard that defies his lighter hair colour.

His smile, or should I say, lack
of, is apparently all he needs.

“
It
’
s a dangerous
feature,
”
said
B
, offering a female perspective as we strolled along
the canal a few years ago.
“
Joseph has an
extremely dangerous smile.
”

“
His smile is why girls lose all
rational thought?
”
I asked, shaking my head.
“
He
doesn
’
t even smile. He just
…
smirks and
pouts.
”

“
Exactly. It
’
s
smouldering.
”

“
Smouldering?
”

“
Yeah. It creeps out the side of
his mouth. It
’
s effortless and
nonchalant, and full of mystery.
”

“
You
’
ve thought about
this a lot, I see.
”

“
You asked the
question,
”
she said, kissing the corner of my mouth and working her
hand up and down my arm.

“
Okay, so what
you
’
re saying is, girls love his smile because he
doesn
’
t have a smile?
”

“
In a way, but
it
’
s more than that. It
’
s the way he squints
his eyes and bites his lip simultaneously. His whole face is in
cahoots, and he knows it all too well,
”
she continued,
mimicking her words with her own facial features.

“
Tell me about
it,
”
I
said.
“
So, what about my smile?
”

She
wrapped her arms around my neck.
“
The cutest in the
whole wide world, mister.
”

The
way I looked at my best friend changed that day. No longer did I
see broody and moody, but a dangerous weapon that finds its way in
and out of daily trouble. It also confirmed my role in our
friendship: the cute one, the brother-like one. Except to
B
, that is,
and that
’
s all I care about.

“
What do you think,
Aus?
”
Joey asks, snapping me from my memories.
“
Don
’
t you
think it
’
s time Harriet agreed to go out with
me?
”

“
Absolutely
not,
”
I say without hesitation.

“
See? Your only friend thinks
you
’
re bad news,
”
says Harriet, lingering a few
seconds before walking away.

His
smirk returns, this time aimed at me.
“
What was that?
You
’
re supposed to help me.
”

“
You need more than help.
You
’
ve known her over ten years, and not once has she
shown a glimmer of interest.
”

“
Today
’
s a new day,
Aus. And it
’
s a good day, too.
This could be the start of a new journey.
”

I shrug and take another mouthful
of cold beer.

“
The gig I
sorted,
”
he continues, grasping my shoulders with his large
palms.
“
Christ, it
’
s only been a few
hours since I told you.
”

“
Oh, yeah. Should be
fun.
”

“
Don
’
t get too
excited,
”
he says.
“
Come on, let
’
s grab a
seat.
”
He manoeuvres past the brick pillar with old music posters
from my father
’
s
generation.

Decorated with old church benches, red leather couches and
tiny green stools, there
’
s no defined style
in this pub we call home. One wall houses antique clocks, letter
boxes, typewriters, and lamps, whereas another is flush with
photographs from some Parisian outing, aerial shots of our beloved
town, and framed posters from famed gigs that never took place
here.

“
Seriously, this is
big,
”
Joey says, taking a seat.
“
I guarantee at least
two of the bands involved will hit the big time. We play our cards
right, and we could get some killer support acts next
year.
”

I
nod and focus on my pint glass, because watching him is one of the
most exhausting parts of my day. He doesn
’
t sit and talk,
rather drums home every point like a motivated salesman honing in
on his commission. Lifting his palms and swaying his neck, he
dances across from me whilst I sit in silence.

They
’
re the roles we
play, and although I should know better after all these years,
it
’
s hard to fight his passion. I can
’
t fathom
the conversations we
’
ve had in this pub,
his dreams manifesting into my own. I can
’
t imagine who
I
’
d be without Joseph-bleeding-Johnson in my
life.

I suppose it would be easier, but
far less interesting.

“
And those guys earlier were
insane. I can
’
t wait to sign them
up. This is the summer, brother. This is the
summer.
”

“
Sounds good.
”

Sighing, he lifts his pint and consumes the dark
bitter.
“
What
’
s up with you? Shit
day at work?
”
he asks, lingering on the word,
work
.

“
Work is fine, thank
you.
”

“
Just fine?
”

“
Sorry, work is wonderful. The
best. Out of this world.
”

Laughing, he slaps the table.
“
You are full of shit.
Don
’
t think I don
’
t know how much you
hate that job. It
’
s just a matter of
time until you join me and live a life of
freedom.
”
Taking another mouthful of bitter, he rolls each sleeve
further up his arms and brushes down his navy blue waistcoat. What
started off as a wager before our band
’
s first show
seven years ago, has become as notorious as his confident persona.
Barely a day goes by without him wearing a three-piece suit; on
warm afternoons like this, his waistcoat and tattoos are all he
needs.
“
So, is
B
joining us this evening?
”

“
Is she supposed
to?
”

“
She usually crashes our
fun.
”

I
plant my own palm on the table, the thud not nearly as
impressive.
“
You are aware you
’
ve known her as long
as me, right? And that we all hung out long before we started
dating
…”
I tail off and sigh.
“
And yes, she may stop
by
…
briefly.
“

“
Of course she will. You know,
I
’
m amazed you manage a full eight hours at work without
her. How do you cope?
”

“
What can I say?
It
’
s nice to love someone. It
’
s even nicer
knowing someone loves you back.
”

“
I suppose that means nobody
loves me?
”

I shrug.

“
Well, I happen to love myself.
Does that count?
”

I shake my head, folding a beer
mat in half and tearing off the corners.

“
And I know you love me, and
Harriet does, deep down.
”

“
You
’
re
delusional,
”
I say, balancing the small shreds of corner on top of
the tent-like beer mat.

“
No way. She wants me. Just a
matter of time until she realises it. And speak of the
devil,
”
he says, motioning his eyes towards the
door.

I
can
’
t help but twist, ruining my well-balanced stack of
beer-mat shards. Although I know every inch of her body, every
feature of her face, her scent, taste, and touch, watching
B
walk
across a room is as magical now as when she first skipped into my
life. A spring day not unlike this one, Joey and me lounged on a
grass bank with footballs propping up our heads. Despite being
strangers, she walked towards us like she
’
d known us a
lifetime, twirling pieces of grass between her
fingertips.

“
Hi. I
’
m Beatrice. But
everyone calls me
B
.
”

Wearing a rich blue dress that drops just below her thighs
and hides the long, firm legs I stroked and kissed last night, she
walks towards the bar. Speckled with white flowers, the dress fans
out as she twists from left to right, searching for me, no doubt,
but catching familiar faces along the way. Nodding, waving and
mouthing
‘
hello
’
to this person and that, she spots
me and stops; smiles and blows a kiss through her red-lipsticked
lips.

“
Evening, you
two,
”
she says, sitting on the stool to my left.
“
Hello,
you,
”
she continues, planting a kiss on my cheek, a kiss
I
’
m sure marks me with dark red
lipstick.