‘He did?’ I say, surprised, turning to her.
Did he?
She looks at me, shocked. ‘Of course he did!’ she says. ‘You know that, don’t you, Alice? Didn’t you? He did it constantly. Since day one. He would tell you you were being silly – he would laugh at you– when you were upset over yet another horrible thing he’d done. Then you’d feel like you were overreacting and forgive him. It was really hard to watch.’
She looks contemplative for a minute. ‘I think it was to keep you confused and vulnerable so you’d keep coming back, no matter what he did to you.’ She pauses and we look at each other before she adds in a low voice, ‘He isn’t a very niceperson.’
I let her words sink through my skin.
She’s right. He did do that. All the time. And it worked every time. I would constantly question myself and feel stupid for getting upset over ‘nothing’. He’d make me feel like I was nuts for asking about our relationship status after a year. Or made out like I was the biggest weirdo ever for being upset when he didn’t text me back for threedays.
But even if I was overreacting – and finding another woman’s toothbrush in your boyfriend’s bathroom is surely not something you can everunderreactto – if someone loves you, they should still listen to how you’re feeling, shouldn’t they? They shouldn’t mock you or make you feel stupid for having emotions. Wherever the feelings are coming from, they’re still your feelings – you’restill sad – and a real, emotionally kind partner should hear you and try to empathise. Not make you feel stupid.
Actually, my first boyfriend, Kit, used to do that, too.
Fuck, I had no idea just how stupid I’d been.
I have always thought of myself as such a strong feminist. I read so much about these things and never thought I would fall for an idiotic narcissist’s tricks. I suddenlyfeel very foolish and very relieved I didn’t send that text toTDa couple of weeks ago.
I prod myself. Is there anything left in me that still wants him?
Nothing.
The relief is palpable. Absolutely nothing. I don’t even hate him any more. I just feel sad for him. He’s a miserable person who is going to spend his life trying to make women feel insecure because he thinks that’s theway to ensure they stay. Isn’t that sad? And isn’t it sad that I let it happen to me for so long?
But I can’t punish myself for what’s done. Because that’s another vicious circle. You hate yourself for being so weak, and the hatred makes you feel unworthy of real love – so you go back. But not any more. I take a deep, slow breath in.
‘Clara,’ I say, my head swimming. ‘Lovely Clara, trynot to be sad. Jan is very young and stupid. Of course he doesn’t mean any of it, he’s just a fucking moron. And if he spends his whole life pushing people away, being cruel and unkind, pretending he doesn’t need anyone else, he’s going to end up so completely alone, with no one ...’
I trail off, my own words smacking me in the face.
That’s what I’ve been doing. Shit. That’s what I’vebeen doing for years.
Jan’s furious voice interrupts my realisation.
‘All right, ErinBrocker-bitch, have you finished trying me in your feminist court?’ he shouts, and the Anorak Family fully stand up, ushering their children away from us.
Oh crap, he heard me calling him a fucking moron even though he definitely is one and many other words.
‘Listen, Jan,’ I begin in a conciliatorytone. I should try to smooth things over. We are, after all, going to be trapped on a boat together for another few hours.
‘Get fucked, shit for brains,’ he interjects. ‘Why would I listen to anyone else? I’m doing fine on my own, I don’t need some goth chubster—’
Wait, is that me?
‘—telling me what’s good for me. Other people just hold me back. I’m going to be a body builder, livingit up in Spain. I am on this road to success all on my own ...’
His loud rant continues, more like a speech. Everyone on the boat is his audience. It briefly occurs to me that this is a performance piece arranged by the organisers, and Jan is an actor hired to entertain the guests.
But I guess sleeping with Clara would be quite a long game in terms of entertainment.
Clara jumps upshouting, and the pair of them perform their set, yelling for the cheap seats at the back.
I turn to Eva, ignoring them. ‘LeFou, I’m afraid I’ve been thinking ...’ I say, and she adds automatically, ‘A dangerous pastime ...’
‘I know,’ I nod. ‘Really though, I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’ve decided it’s time for my third adventure. Enough now, I’m ready.’
She cocks her headat me, but she is smiling because she knows what is coming. ‘I’m going to Australia,’ I say, grinning back at her. ‘I think it’s probably time, don’t you?’
She nods, and leans across giving me a long hug.
