They had called her naive. Naive little Jessica, vulnerable and lonely.
They talked about him and her when they thought she wasn't listening. Gossip. He's just using her. He'll hang her out to dry. Why is she with him? Do you think she knows? No, she can't, otherwise why would she hang around?
But the truth is that she did know. She knew she wasn't special to him, that she was just another experiment. She knew that one day he would turn around and want nothing more to do with her. And she was ok with that.
She was anything but naive. She didn't believe that they would ever get married, have 2.5 kids, settle down. She didn't even hold the illusion that he was faithful to her. She didn't assume for a second that he would be at her beck and call when she needed him most. And she certainly didn't believe that he loved her.
It was something that he had made clear from the beginning. Oh he didn't explicitly say it, but for someone so secretive he wasn't half obvious.
On the very first day she met him he had known everything about her from a single glance. She wasn't surprised in the slightest, she had often been told that she was easy to read. And there wasn't much to know anyway. Both her parents were still alive and she had a younger brother.
Boring.
That's what she was.
It's what he had called her.
She supposed that was what had drawn her to him in the first place. It wasn't some petty school girl crush. They were opposites. They cancelled each other out.
She calmed him down. And he brightened her up.
It had started with nothing more than the odd book recommendation. He would claim that what she was reading was boring, suggest something new and then leave.
The books he recommended were stunning. Classical literature that could only be found in the deepest caverns of the library.
And so she returned the favour. She had no idea if he ever actually read the books she recommended, and he certainly never said thank you, but it was something that over the weeks stopped bothering her.
She was happy.
It didn't take long before the rumours started going round the college.
The freak they called him.
She refused to react to the rumours. Why bother?
She couldn't ever outright say that she didn't love him, because she knew she did. But as their acquaintance developed into a mutual respect, she began to understand that he would never love her. And so she accepted it.
He would now seek her out.
They would sit for hours upon end in silence in the library, working. They wouldn't even have to acknowledge each other, they were just comfortable.
She asked him once, why he would bother. And he simply stated that being around someone boring helped to slow his brain down and allowed him to focus.
It was then that she realised she was some sort of experiment to him. A test to himself to see how long he could stand being around her. She accepted that fact and they carried on.
She didn't speak to him at all during the holidays after their first year of university. And she didn't feel worse off because of it.
When they returned, he looked worse than ever. She had known he had gotten into drugs before then end of last year. But she never mentioned it.
They fell easily back into their routine. Classes together, library together, eat together. It was no wonder that people often mistook them for a couple.
Neither of them had many other friends. Oh she had people she would smile and wave at in the mornings and evenings, but she knew that behind her back, that those were the people calling her naive.
She coexisted with him in a state of mutual acceptance for three years.
It seemed that nothing could ruin their arrangement, she knew that at the end of their course that she would never hear from him again. And she was ok with that, she had long since accepted that she was not what he needed, she was simply a place holder. Holding the line until the one he did need was there. She didn't know when this other person would come along, and so she had been ready to jump ship for the past year.
On the last night of the year they wears lying on the grass staring up at the sky. He was pondering why people bothered to learn about the stars, and she was scolding him for being so childish. It was easy, simple.
That changed when he kissed her.
To this day she still doesn't quite know what possessed him to do it, but before she knew it, they were back at her digs and scrabbling at each others clothing.
She knew it was an experiment, what else could it be with him. But for that moment, she let herself forget it.
That night they made love.
In the morning he was gone. She hadn't expected anything else.
She didn't cry, she had been ready for this.
So she moved on. Move out of Cambridge, into the big wide world, not hearing or thinking of him again.
Until three months later.
She counted the numbers again in her head. Double checked them against the calendar. Triple checked them.
She hadn't miss counted.
She was pregnant.
It was his. She knew it was, there hadn't been anyone else. Ever.
Suddenly she wished he was there. He would know what to do, he was the practical one.
After a moments panic she pulled herself together and did what she had done whenever she was with him, she accepted the situation, and got on with her life.
The next few months were tough, but she managed, she coped.
She moved to London to be nearer nearer her aunt. She hadn't told her yet, but she would when the time came to it. But for now she was content to live a few streets away, knowing her aunt would be there when she needed it.
She took a job with a small advertising company that didn't seem to care that she was eight months pregnant. She enjoyed it.
She made friends. Proper friends, the kind that would be there when you needed them, and she needed them. Because she was scared.
When the time came, it went surprisingly smoothly. She was out of the hospital the next day with a healthy baby girl.
She stayed at home in her small flat, caring for and loving her little bundle of joy. Her friends visited often, one more than most, and soon she began to find herself falling all over again.
He didn't ask who her daughter's father was, and so she didn't tell. Anyway she had no way of contacting him, even if she wanted to.
Little by little he began to integrate himself into their lives, and before she knew it her daughter was one and he was living with them.
And she was happy.
She would never forget the father of her daughter, nor would she ever be angry at him for leaving. But she had found a dad for her, and she was happy.
Life carried on for many years. They moved to a bigger flat, another daughter came along and they got married, but she never forgot him.
Every time she looked into her eldest's eyes, she saw his, ice cold and piercing blue, looking back.
When her first daughter was but eight years old, tragedy struck. Her husband was called up to war. She knew for a while he had been wanting to join the army, and he had.
Her daughters would forever ask her where their daddy was. She would tell them with a heavy heart that he was off fighting the bad men.
Her youngest would accept this, and move on to the next most interesting thing.
But her eldest knew better. She knew that her daddy wasn't her father. And she often asked her about him, her real father. She didn't know what to say to her daughter, so she told her the truth, about how she had loved her daddy very much, but he wasn't happy with her, so he moved on.
Another year later and the phone rang. It was the phone call that every wife, husband, son daughter fears. The phone call that tells you that you won't be seeing them again, and that we are ever so sorry, accept our condolences.
She went to her aunt then. It was the summer holidays so she took her girls too. She knocked on the door and was enveloped in a large hug. The usual how've you been's and the my haven't you grown's were exchanged before the children ran inside to explore. And she was left alone to explain.
She took up her aunt's offer of a place to stay, she knew she would not be able to return to work and with no money coming in, she would not be able to afford to continue to live in their flat, and her aunt rented out places, and she was told she was welcome to 221C for as long as she needed, free of charge.
For some strange reason he came to her mind that night, as she watched her girls sleep. Not her husband, but Him. And for the first time since he had left her, She cried. She knew she should be crying for her husband, and she knew that that was what everybody would assume she was doing. But deep down in her heart she still loved Him, and she cried because she d and nobody would judge her. He certainly couldn't.
The next morning her children were running riot around the place, and she attempted to calm them down. Her eldest ran up the stairs, and so she followed, trying to tell her that up there wasn't part of their house. That other people live there.
Her daughter paid no heed to her words, and opened the door to 221B.
She sped up her pace in an attempt to stop her causing to much mayhem, and as she entered the room she saw her daughter talking to a sandy blond haired man.
She apologised profusely and explained her situation. He exclaimed surprise at the revelation that she was Mrs Hudson's niece, but invited her for a mug of tea.
At that point she rounded up her children and Mrs Hudson took them to the zoo.
She thought John was a nice man, and it was nice to be able to talk about her husband with someone who understood the war, and what he would have experienced.
An few hours later, the front door slammed and John made his apologies, explaining that his flat mate wasn't one for politeness. She told him not to worry, and truthfully that she had probably dealt with a lot worse in her life time. He had seemed skeptical.
She finished her tea and moved to be introduced to the flatmate.
Her eyes met the ice cold and piercing blue ones of Him.
He said her name. She noticed John look confused.
She didn't quite know what to feel. After all these years, she didn't quite know what to say to him.
So she merely said his name. Even saying it again brought on a fresh onslaught of emotions, emotions that she had not even known she was bottling up.
John asked for an explanation. She looked and him. He looked at her. Both wondering who would be the one to start.
Mercifully Her aunt chose that time to return with her daughters.
They ran up to her and started reeling off stories at a mile a minute.
He looked a her.
He looked at her eldest.
He looked at her again.
She could see his mind whirring. She knew he knew who she was, what she was, and whose she was.