The first party I was invited to when I started high school was awful…mainly because I was so awkward and shy! It was so weird…I still remember how embarrassed I was throughout every moment. What did not help…is that I didn’t even know I was going to be at a party, it was a surprise to me and to my friend.
Secondary school (aged 11-16 years of age) was so very different from primary school (aged 4-11). Painfully different. I was one of three children from my primary school who moved on to a high school that was in another town because, apparently, it was a “better” school.
I dreaded moving on up to the big school. I did not want to be a teenager. I didn’t understand the change in attitude and behaviour. I didn’t know many people. The two boys from my primary school were assigned to different forms than me, in the other half of the year, which meant we didn’t see much of each other at all. I was all on my own with a class of complete strangers. The level of shyness I felt was almost debilitating.
However, on my second day at school, a girl at the front of the queue on the way into our form room turned around and counted, “one, two, three, four, five, six…we are going to be friends. We are all going to sit together and we will be gang.” There we go….it was as easy as that apparently. From then on I was attached to the other five girls throughout my entire school life.
My first day in Year Seven was a Thursday, early on in the September. I was at school for two days and then…at the weekend, Milly, who must have been six years of age, came from a party with some left-over cupcakes. My Dad and I ate a cupcake and then both of us were unable to keep any food down for a whole week. The worst food poisoning I have ever experienced. Debilitated by a cupcake!
So, I missed the following week at school. When I was back at school, my five new little friends were very sweet and all said they had missed me. Three of them had come from the same primary school as each other, which was in the village I had been born in. They were all talented musicians and could drawer and had the most beautiful hand-writing. The other two came from a primary school that was very close to the high school we now attended. They were very good at sports. All six of us were generally cheery and fun-loving and friendly. For some reason they seemed very fond of me.
I am sure it helped me to have been adopted into a little group of friends so early on. After about three or four weeks, one of the girls came up to me early in the morning just after I had arrived and told me that one of the other girls had a question she wanted to ask me but was a bit nervous. I asked what was the question. Her answer surprised me, “she wants to know if you will be her best friend.” I was amazed really. And that was that…I had a best friend throughout the rest of high school. She was a great best friend…so creative and imaginative and full of ideas. She gave me a confidence I didn’t have before. I would support her and help her carry out all her plans.
It was around November when my best friend invited me over to her family’s home for tea (that’s what we called dinner) after school one night. She said I could sleep-over too but I was so shy that I asked my parents if they could pick me up instead.
My best friend told me to take some clothes to change into when I arrived at her home. I asked her what kind of clothes. I wore green shorts and a scruffy red T-shirt or, denim shorts and a sweater that said “I love California” on the front…but all my play clothes has tears and holes in. I whinged at my parents that I needed new clothes if I was going to go to my friend’s home. I ended up with the most hideous pair of leggings with a rose pattern on them. My friend thought they were so odd she teased me about them for the rest of our school years.
I remember the evening that we finally went to her home after school and her mum told us that she had arranged a surprise and she was actually taking us bowling…American ten-pin bowling. My new best friend was delighted. I was scared. This was a new experience for me and I didn’t like new experiences without one of my family with me. When we arrived, there were a group of her friends, who were all strangers to me, waiting for us to arrive. I lingered in the background shyly whilst these faces I had never seen were giving wrapped up packages to my best friend. I was terrified. I had never been bowling before. It was quite noisy inside and there were lots of people cheering and laughing.
I had no idea that we had to exchange our shoes for bowling shoes…how I wish I had taken some socks. Bear feet into communal shoes – eeeuw!
I was so nervous…I didn’t know what to do…I could not believe how heavy the bowling balls were. My first turn was disastrous and just went straight into the gully…or whatever it is called. I did not know what to say to all these other eleven year old kids I had only just met. I felt so awkward, so embarrassed and so self-conscious in those ridiculous leggings that everyone was teasing me about.
My best friend’s parents had arranged for drinks and snacks for all of us and then from nowhere a cake appeared. It was a pretty fantastic cake. Because I was vegetarian, I had missed out on the beef burgers everyone else was tucking into, so as soon as I noticed the cake had arrived, I wandered over to it and began hacking into it with a plastic knife and helped myself to a large slice.
A moment later my best friend’s mum appeared with a cake knife and stared at the cake in horror. She immediately spotted me munching away, and gave me an angry frown. She showed the other adults and they whispered about it, and I could see them trying to tidy up the mess I had made of the cake. Moments later they picked the cake up and started walking toward my friend and singing “Happy Birthday”. I had no idea it was my best friend’s birthday. I bolted…there I was with cake all over my hands and face…I could not believe what I had done!
Honestly….I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me up. I was so deeply embarrassed. When my parents came to pick me up later I told them I never ever wanted to go to a school friend’s house for tea after school ever again.
Goodness….that first year of high school at eleven years of age was so painfully awkward…I kept on making a fool of myself because I was with a bunch of kids I did not know, who were introducing me to new experiences that I had never known before. Still, for some reason my friends loved me.
There were other bowling nights…I became quite a dab hand at bowling and always remembered to take socks. I never let my parents buy any clothes for me again…the rose leggings were abandoned. I am kind of glad I survived eleven…even though I learnt that my face had the potential to turn every shade of crimson.
Inconveniently, I needed to go into our communal kitchen to bake. I had promised to bake some cinnamon wheels. A young man who we had been working with was leaving London as his father was ill. We were having a farewell breakfast first thing Monday morning before his drive home. I had asked him what he wanted me to bring along. He said he loved Danish pastries. I suggested cinnamon wheels. He was delighted with the idea.
Jack was furious! I had never seen him angry. His hair seemed to stand on end and his eyes were bulging like some eccentric scientist. I had never heard him yell like that – a ferocious roar of a yell. I felt awful because I had done this to him. I can’t even remember his first few words, just the fury in which he delivered them. I am not sure what calmed Jack down first. Was it seeing my tearful breakdown in response to his outburst? Or was it when he saw the massive carving knife in my hand that I was wielding on the pastry? We will never know!
But Jack did calm down. He started to plead with me. He said I was being completely unfair and what I had done was out of order. I just nodded and wept, “I know Jack”. He saw I was not trying to argue. I acknowledged I had been unfair, but I was so hurt by everything I had heard that week.
I was truly overwhelmed at that point. My emotions were intense and I was terrified that if I opened my mouth I could make it even worse. It made it difficult for me to respond to Jack.
He was frustrated with me. He told me I should not listen to gossip. He reminded me that we had already talked about the pressure rumours had made us 
He said he was so sorry that I had heard those awful things. He asked me who I had heard these things from. I didn’t answer directly, I said I had heard them from friends and seen things on phones with my own eyes. I told him I had seen the comments on his Instagram account. Jack took my hand into his soft velvet paws.
Do you remember in the last post I left you on this cliff-hanger? Well, that kiss was not the confession, the stupid thing I have been building up to telling you about. However, it was also a stupid thing to do, and it had consequences!
Do you also remember Brian’s suggestion that I take a bit more control of the situation I was finding challenging? (The gossip and the false rumours about my flatmate Jack and I.) Brian had recommended that I “fight fire with fire“.
Brian had posted a selfie with me alongside him, onto his Instagram account. He had taken the photo very shortly after I had unburdened myself to him and then…in my moment of madness…kissed him.
I think I had already guessed what had happened. And I knew already I had to be ready to take on board responsibility for agreeing to let Brian post that photo. I used the travelling time to work out what I was going to say to my friends, and more importantly, what I was going to say to Jack.
Ella was not home either, nor Dean. In fact the flat was quite empty. I jumped in the shower and started to get ready. I was going out. I was quite excited actually. I was attending an award show. It would take me an hour to do something satisfactory with my hair. I hate styling my hair. But I love these events. You do have to make the effort! My dress was all picked out…have I ever mentioned how much I love parties? (Always a party to go to after a show.)
Do you know what it is like to watch someone you live with performing on stage with other popular entertainers? I loved seeing Jack on stage. He is a natural entertainer. I did enjoy seeing him.
After the awards had been given out and all the entertainment had ended, the party atmosphere kicked off even more. But that is when I saw Jack, and undoubtedly, he had seen me this time. All week he had been absolutely lovely to me, but not now. He was glaring at me. He looked angry.
But Jack seemed to always be near, I could tell out of the corner of my eye, and several times I turned to see scenes a bit like this one (no this is not Jack). Now that was not at all like Jack. He was not at all relaxed with women making a fuss of him. He was concerned about his reputation and he felt a sense of pride at being a role-model for young people to look up to. In addition, he has had a couple of bad experiences with scary female fans he had to take legal action against, so he normally played very safe with women. Not that night. Oh Jack!
I set off criss-crossing through the side streets towards our flat. Then I started to feel a few drops on my forehead. Within moments the rain was teaming down. I had a brolly. I don’t go anywhere without a brolly (truly English to the bone) and I had a little tiny fold up brolly which did rather a poor job of keeping me dry.
As I was approaching the security gates outside our flats, they started to open slowly and a car drove in ahead of me. Jack’s car! I held back. I didn’t want him to see me. But that meant I had the perfect view of the passenger side of the car as the door opened and…a young woman climbed out of Jack’s car. Oh my goodness!…how awkward!
“Jack, you were brilliant tonight. I mean you always are, but I thought you were brilliant. I felt so proud of you.”
Perhaps I should begin with Jamal, as I have already mentioned him in another post. What did Jamal have to say about Jack and me? Very early on Jamal started teasing Jack about me. Then Jamal started teasing me about Jack. Every time he appeared he would call me over to him, and then lead me to Jack. Jamal was forever taunting me in a mild way about having a crush on Jack, I don’t know what he was saying to Jack but I can only imagine it was ten times worse.
Then Jack moved into the flat I was sharing already with Ella and Dean. Can you imagine Jamal’s reaction? There were always lots of young men pouring into our flat to hang out with Jack. He cared for them. Some of them were from broken up backgrounds and he tried to steer them away from drugs and crime and encouraged them to get involved with working for charities.
Jamal was a super lad in himself. He was extremely gregarious and popular with people of all ages. He looked smart, he was always wearing a tailored suit or a cashmere sweater and a pair of his trendy spectacles. He was smooth, he was slick. He had constant laughter in his voice. Jamal was clever and capable and confident. He really looked up to Jack. Jack encouraged Jamal and gave him great advice.
Damian was one – I can’t bear to think of what Damian said and did. He thought the world of Jack. But I had known Damian long before either he or I met Jack. Damian and I had been friends since we were fourteen. He was the King of sarcasm. Damian was cruel to both Jack and me…and he would not stop. I kept on receiving messages from him. I saw Damian almost every day and he always had something to say. He was merciless. Hugh Sanders was another. Hugh was relentless. These silly men spread rumours like an infectious rash.
First of all, Bernard. Benny, we all called him, or Granddad, because he always took that tone when offering advice. Benny was the opposite in temperament to Jack. Benny was mild and quiet and modest. Although Jack could get on Benny’s nerves, he did love Jack. Benny had also been a great friend to me since I had moved to London. Benny took me out for dinner a lot, took me to the theatre and invited me to parties. We were frequently at the Royal Albert Hall which we both adored. Benny decided he would have a word with me about Jack, during that week after the conversation between Jack and I had taken place. Benny told me that Jack was wonderful but that he was like a kid in the playground. Benny warned me that Jack was going to hurt me, because he had not grown up yet.
Then there was a famous director who Jack had worked with and admired a lot. Sylvan threw amazing parties and was delighted to jump up on stage and sing or play any instrument that was handy.
Frankly, I was fed up of hearing what everyone else had to say. I wanted to speak with Jack again directly. I wanted to find out if there was any possibility he was contributing to the rumours I was hearing and ask him to make sure he strenuously denied anything was happening. And I wanted to do it in a way that made it clear to Jack that I was not against something happening, but that he and I needed to build some kind of friendship first before there was any possibility of that happening. Much as I was fond of Jack…I did not trust him, how could I trust my feelings with him?
A young man who had recently moved to London named Brian saw me on the bus on Saturday morning when I was heading into town. I had worked with Brian on a project in Devon years before and remembered him. Brian was pleased to find someone who knew who he was. Brian had been out for drinks with the same group as Jack and Hugh. Brian hardly knew a soul in London, so it made sense for him to be tagging along with new workmates when he was invited to go out for a drink.
I asked Brian if he had had any plans for that day. 
I lent forward and kissed the poor bloke! Brian laughed and thanked me. I immediately apologised. Brian then said to me everything was cool. He looked thoughtful, and then he came out with an idea…an idea which I 
I could not be sure I knew entirely what Brian meant by that, so I looked at him with a serious gaze and confessed, “I do think I actually love Jack, but I am just really mad at him at the moment.”
I have a very close friend named Marta. We shared a flat together when I first moved to London along with two other girls. She is one of the people I have been most open with about everything. I opened my heart to her. I love and her trusted her deeply.
She is a very strong woman – mentally strong I mean. That is very important because she works with some very severe cases of mental health. So, she has been a great listening ear to me since I was attacked and she has helped me hold myself together emotionally and keep my mental balance.
However, Marta was not at all keen on Jack in person. She did not enjoy his company as she said he always wanted to be the centre of attention. Marta said Jack was a show-off. For example, Jack spoke several languages fluently, at least eight languages. He would seize any and every opportunity to use his languages. So if he met anyone, French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Greek, Romanian, German or Polish, he would start chattering away in their language to practice his conversation skills. Marta thought this was pretentious. Marta herself spoke four languages fluently. I did always wonder whether there was a tiny bit of envy on Marta’s side. I don’t know?
Marta was there the first morning I met Jack. We were having breakfast with some friends and he arrived late and he sat opposite me. It appeared that the way I tucked into my stack of pancakes had the ability to captivate him. She always said she had noticed the way he was looking at me and she knew he was going to chase me.
Now, that might sound a bit odd, but sometimes Marta said rather odd things. I never could quite work out her motivation. She thinks outside of the box all the time, she has to working in mental health. For example, she decided she wanted to cure me of my vegetarianism (I have not eaten meat or fish since I was six years old). The way she went about doing this was so bizarre. If we were at dinner and everyone was eating beef, she would moooooo into my ear. If everyone was eating lamb, she would baa baaaa into my ear. Why would making animal noises make me want to start eating meat?
I had dinner with Marta and her husband Pedro during the week that followed Jack and I sitting down over a cup of tea and Jack saying wonderful things to me. Marta asked me many questions about Jack. She liked to analyse things.
Pedro readjusted his tie uncomfortably as if he would prefer not to be getting involved at all, “He was talking rubbish. He told a group during a business lunch that you had sent him a love letter, that you are obsessed with him, that you think you are married to him.”
Marta nodded, while Pedro shook his head, “No, he didn’t say that. Mel, you know what a bunch of guys can be like. It was the other guys who were teasing him. They were saying stuff like you have been harbouring a secret passion for him all the time you have been living together in the same flat. Someone said he should be scared that one night he will walk into his room and find you waiting for him in his bed. Someone else started pushing him to admit that something must have already happened between you and him. A few of the guys were saying some pretty crude stuff, I am not going to upset you Mel – you know what guys can be like when they have had a pint of beer.”
Suzie and I got on as soon as we started working together. We both loved to laugh. Suzie is an amazing dancer. She has always been very popular because she is fun loving and loves parties. She loves shoes, she had a ridiculous amount of shoes which were stacked on top of each other in a pile that took up half of her wardrobe. Some of her shoes I liked, some of her shoes I thought were bizarre, but whenever she wore the shoes I thought were strangest, she received a bundle of compliments about them.
Suzie was married by the time I was living in the same flat as Jack. I had moved out of the flat we shared into another flat in the next road. Suzie and I used to spend so much time together before she was married, but I felt it best to give her some space when she was married. I did go round for dinner and loved that her husband cooked amazing jollof rice and plantain. I have loved plantain ever since I spent time in Ghana.
In addition you probably need to know that Suzie’s husband was a very close friend of Jack’s. They socialized together a lot. He also seemed to think I would be perfect for Jack, but he warned me, Jack is not very sensitive to women and can come across a bit ignorant. He told me of several women who had been more than offended by him. He told me Jack is like a teenager and has never really learnt to understand women.
Suzie’s husband was one of the first to cotton on to the fact that what had originated with innocent teasing was starting to get out of hand. He took the time to discuss it with me and realized I was becoming alarmed at the comments I was receiving from complete strangers. From then on, Suzie and him tried to be as supportive as possible in a situation that was going to advance beyond anyone’s expectations. At the end of the day they cared for both Jack and me, and they tried their best to resolve the situation.
Suzie and I ran home together one evening that following week. First of all, she wanted to know if I was alright. I told her how happy I was with Jack. Suzie seemed surprised.
Much as I loved Suzie, and loved spending time with her, the truth is I no longer trusted her with my feelings about Jack. I suspected she would share whatever I said with her husband and it would then go back to Jack. I truly wanted it to be Jack and I alone who discussed any possible prospects for a future relationship. So I tried to throw cold water all over the idea that anything could ever develop. I said I really did want to enjoy being friends and flatmates. That was all that mattered to me.
So, here we go:
It affected me deeply. It was hard to suppress my smiles. I loved every moment of his company when he was like this. I was brimming over with delight. I can’t remember ever feeling so intensely happy with any other man in my life. So I did something I have done thousands of times over the years to all sorts of different people. I sat down and wrote a thank you card to him. I wrote that I had been touched by his humility and kindness and was so grateful that finally the air had cleared. I wrote that I too wanted us to be friends and enjoy living in the flat together.
The rumours began to arrive back with me. The words I heard ranged from cute to crude, from ridicule to outright rude, from drole to dreadful, from silly to slanderous, from vile to vicious. If I give you a tame example, you will wonder what I was upset about, but if I give you examples of the most degrading things said and published on social media, it will make my site unsuitable for readers of all ages to read – so use your imagination. As they stacked up, I became troubled. In essence, people thought my flatmate and I were now an official item, that we were now “going public” about an intimate relationship which we had been apparently been trying to keep a secret.
It was only to my best friend Marta, that I was brave enough to admit, “If he stays like this then I am going to fall in love with him“.
I was amazed at how many photographs must have been snapped up of he and I during the last two days while we were near home. Who was taking these photos? Could it have been one of our neighbours? Or several of our neighbours? Or just people passing and recognizing him and seeing an opportunity? It seems unlikely that it was just one person. But why take these pictures and then use them to make up stories that were untrue? Was it even legal to be publishing their baseless presumptions? I hated seeing what people had written about the photos that were being shared. So crass!
There was one photo that had been taken from a very unfortunate camera angle. I remember he had opened a car door for me and I had turned around and smiled graciously thanking him. But in the photo it looked as if his hand was on my behind and I was enjoying it. Believe me, he did not lay a finger on me, otherwise there really would have been a story to tell, along with a black eye. But it was just the angle the picture was taken. He had his right hand held out as he was inviting me to get into the car…and it really did look as if his hand was planted firmly on my derriere and I was giving him a smile of enjoyment. Ugh!
I have a feeling in my heart, more like a dread, that the next time I am with him, it will be the “Goodbye” I have known was coming for a whole year and am so mournful about now that it finally has drawn near. I saw a quote when I was thinking about losing Goldfinch. It said “How wonderful to have someone who makes saying goodbye so hard”…the jury is still out on that one!
It will be goodbye. I am not going to explain all the reasons in this post, but maybe at a later date, I will explain why I am convinced it will be a real goodbye.
For now, I am trying to hold myself together so that Goldfinch does not comprehend the depth of my grief in losing him. Once he has gone, then I will crumble. Until then, he will only know joy and delight with me.
Caramel 