London, England
December 2015
The end of nights we tried
"What are you watching?" Ken wants to know as he walks by Wren House's most comfortable sofa, briefly touching my shoulder as he passes.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully.
That makes him pause and double back to where I'm sitting. "You don't know?" he asks bewildered and looks from me to the TV and back again.
"I don't know," I repeat casually and smile at his confusion.
"Do you want to elaborate on that answer?" He motions for me to scoot over and make space for him on the sofa, which I do readily enough.
"I was told to tune in," I explain. "Apparently, it's a surprise."
Ken hums thoughtfully. "Told by whom?"
I don't doubt that he has a pretty good idea who told me, but I appreciate that he's asking instead of jumping to conclusion.
"Sam," I reply while watching Ken out of the corner of my eye.
He nods and his expression tells me that I merely confirmed what he'd already figured out on his own.
"The famous Sam," he remarks slowly.
"Well, he'd like to be," I clarify. "Famous, I mean."
Ken raises an eyebrow. "He doesn't know what he's wishing for."
"That's what I said," I agree, feeling somewhat vindicated, and settle down more comfortably on the sofa.
The TV is still showing commercials, so as of now, we're none the wiser about Sam's surprise. I guess it's just as well, because Ken isn't done talking either.
"So… will I ever get to meet this Sam?" he wants to know, trying to make his voice sound casual and not succeeding.
Ken is… not the biggest fan of me spending time with Sam. He knows better than to say anything against it or to try and dissuade me, but he isn't good enough an actor to hide the fact that he'd rather Sam disappeared from my life as soon as possible. I only ever see Sam at the youth centre or when we're with other people – usually Dev, Lucy and assorted bandmates of his – so there's no justification for Ken feeling uneasy about our friendship, but to be honest, I kind of understand him anyway. Sam's a guy and what with Ken's and my relationship being in the state it currently is…
Shaking my head, I deflect, "Maybe someday."
I can feel Ken watching me from the side. "Any particular reason you don't want me to meet him?"
There are several reasons, one of which is that Sam and the band and the youth centre are mine. In these past months, they've been a sort of respite from the restricting, regulated world that is Ken's. I'm not well-inclined to have the two overlap anytime soon.
"I honestly don't think you'd have much to say to each other," I tell Ken and shrug. "You really don't have anything in common."
"We both care for you," he points out after a moment. "We have that in common."
"Like Breakfast at Tiffany's," I murmur, thinking of the song and smiling wryly. How ironic.
Ken looks at me quizzically. "What was that?"
"Oh, nothing." I shake my head. "Nothing at all." Somehow, a song with lyrics about a failed relationship isn't what I want to talk about right now.
It's not what I would consider our relationship to be failed, but… it's certainly complicated. We tried to do better, just like we resolved to do, and we did make some progress, but it's still not what it used to be. There are good moments when I find myself being reminded of easier times, but on other days…
"Is that Sam, by any chance?" Ken asks, tearing me away from my rather unhelpful thoughts.
Quickly, I look over at the TV. And yes, on the screen is indeed Sam's familiar face, all tousled hair and cheeky grin.
I don't answer, but my expression must be confirmation enough for Ken because he remarks, "He looks nice." His tone, I notice, is carefully composed.
"That's because he is," I reply, my own voice matching his for composure.
Ken nods at Sam's smiling face. "What is he doing on TV?"
"I don't know," I repeat my earlier words from the very beginning of this conversation. "We could listen and find out though?"
I make sure to accompany the suggestion with a smile to take the sting out of it and Ken responds with a smile of his own. On the screen, the female presenter starts talking, effectively shushing Ken and me into silence.
"Today, we're very happy to have Sam with us," the presenter announces cheerily. "Sam is a rising musician and has his very first single out this week."
I frown at the screen. "What…?"
"That might have been the surprise, him releasing an actual record," Ken suggests, quite reasonably.
"Must be it," I mutter, my brow still furrowed. Why didn't Sam say anything about this?
On the screen, TV Sam bestows a wide smile on the presenter and thanks her for having him. She, not immune to his charms, giggles and smooths down her hair. "We're so pleased you're here with us and are so excited to hear your song! I've heard you're already being compared to Ed Sheeran!"
I roll my eyes.
"The record company must have high hopes for him," Ken observes. "That's quite some effort to promote someone's first single."
"He's good," I reply casually. "He sings, plays the guitar…"
Ken nudges me in the side. "Did I ever tell you I can also play an instrument?"
"You?" I look at him in marked disbelief. "You can play an instrument?"
"Well, sort of," he amends. "I had some lessons in how to play the bagpipes once."
"The bagpipes?" I repeat, incredulous. "This most romantic of instruments, you mean?"
Ken nods earnestly. "Oh, it is. It is not widely known, but in Shakespeare's first draft of Romeo and Juliet, he had Romeo play the bagpipes when he stood below Juliet's balcony. I think we have that edition in our library at Windsor."
"I wonder why he cut it," I retort, feigning sarcasm, but barely able to fight my smile. Ken grins back at me and I feel my heart give a pang.
This.
This is one of the moments when it feels like it used to. We've spent months dancing around each other, never quite meeting in the middle, but in moments like these, I look at him and I think we can make it. If only…
The sound of a guitar diverts my attention back to the TV.
Sam is playing now, under the watchful eye of the adoring presenter, and softly singing along to it. I haven't heard the song before, but instead of listening closely, I let his words wash over me. Really, I'm still half distracted with my musings about Ken and me and how to make the moments last longer, when –
"Rilla?" asks Ken, his voice all weird.
I abruptly raise my head. "Yes?"
He nods at the screen. "I don't want to sound paranoid, but… does this remind you of something?"
At first, I automatically shake my head, but then I start really listening to what Sam is singing – and feel my heart sink. It does remind me of something, or rather, someone. Very, very much so.
It reminds me of me.
I sit there, almost frozen on the spot. Dimly, I'm aware of Ken saying something, but the words don't register. Nothing registers, except for the realisation that Sam not only wrote a song about me but released it to the world.
Now the only thing that could possibly save this would be –
"Such a beautiful song!" exclaims the presenter when Sam has stopped playing. "And it rather reminds me of a certain royal girlfriend…" She wiggles her eyebrows meaningfully. Sam smiles. It looks a little awkward and for a moment, I think he will shake his head and deny it, but then –
But then he nods and, on perfect cue, the screen is filled with a picture of him and me, standing side by side in front of the youth centre, deep in conversation.
I swallow. There's a bitter taste in my mouth.
So this is what betrayal feels like.
All bitter.
"Uh, Rilla and I are friends, obviously," comes Sam's voice as the picture disappears and he and the presenter are back on the screen. "She's a great girl and… well, I sat down one night and started strumming and… and the song came to me, just like that. It was… it was kind of perfect, to be honest."
He grins and the presenter laughs a tingling laugh. I dig my fingernails into the skin of my arm.
"Rilla is absolutely worth writing a song for and when we chose which songs to put on the album, everyone in the record company agreed with me," Sam continues. "They all said that this needed to be the first single we release."
"I bet they did," mutters Ken next to me.
With effort, I tear my eyes away from the screen to look at him. "What?"
"I bet they insisted this be the first single," Ken elaborates as he leans against the backrest of the sofa and sighs.
"Yeah," I whisper. On the screen, Sam and the TV presenter are still talking, but I tune them out.
"I mean, at least now we know why they put him on TV to advertise that single," Ken adds.
"Yeah," I repeat tonelessly.
"It doesn't even matter if it's a good song or not. The connection to you alone will sell it," he muses.
I frown. "The connection to you," I correct.
"What do you mean?" His frown mirrors my own.
"The connection to you will sell it," I clarify.
"I've never met him," Ken points out.
"Yes, but…" I pause briefly, as the grating laugh of the TV presenter briefly fills the room. "Interest in him might be based on his connection to me, but interest in me solely exists because of my connection to you, so… I'm really just the proxy."
Ken looks at me a little weirdly, but doesn't press the matter. Instead, he reaches for the remote control and moments later, the screen goes black. I let go of a long breath and allow my head to drop backwards against the top of the backrest, staring at the stucco up on the ceiling.
For several seconds, we just sit side by side on the sofa, before Ken reaches out to touch my arm. "It happens. It's happened to all of us at some point."
I turn my head towards him without raising it from the backrest. "What happens?"
"That you put your trust in someone and they betray it," he replies. "It's happened to all of us. I know it hurts, but it happens."
For a moment, I close my eyes, before raising my head again. "I just… I didn't expect it from him. Not from him of all people."
"You've become quite good friends this year," Ken observes, his voice carefully neutral.
I shake my head. "No. I mean, yes. We're friends. That's not what I meant though. It's…"
"Yes?" he asks when I trail off.
"He was… he was always the one to tell me… to tell me that I'm more than just the royal girlfriend." I make air quotes around the term. "Or that I could be more than that, anyway."
"No surprise there." Ken's lips curl into a cheerless smile that I don't understand.
Inclining my head, I look at him quizzically, only for him to turn towards the dark TV screen instead. "It's kind of obvious, isn't it? That there wasn't a straight-up love song, but it might as well have been one. Of course he'd tell you to be someone else – someone not my girlfriend."
"No. No. You don't understand." I shake my head, slowly at first and then ever faster. "You don't understand. He's right."
Ken stares at me. "He's… right?" His words are laced with disbelief.
"That's not what I meant." Frustrated, I blow out a puff of air. "He's not right to suggest that you and I… that's not it. He's right about… Look, he asked me who I'd be if it wasn't for you."
"You're right," Ken replies slowly. "I don't understand."
I look down at my hands and take a few deep breaths.
Here goes nothing, I guess.
"He asked me what I'd want to do with my life – or rather, what I would have wanted to do with it if you and I had never met," I tell my, nervously rubbing my hands together.
Ken nods. "Okay. And what was your answer?"
"I didn't have one!" I exclaim, my voice rising. "I had no answer!"
There's a loaded pause, before he speaks again. "Which is a bad thing?"
"It feels like one, anyway," I agree, not quite looking at him. "I look back at the girl I used to be and wonder where she would have gone or what she would have done if she'd never met you… and I have nothing. I simply don't know!"
"Maybe it's because you're right where you're supposed to be," Ken suggests carefully.
"But am I?" I raise my head to look at him, imploring him for… something.
"Aren't you?" he asks back, suddenly sounding incredibly tightly-wound.
I bite my lip. I know I should say that yes, of course I am where I'm supposed to be. It's the answer expected of me. It might also be the natural answer to give. Except…
"Rilla?" His voice is all weird and suddenly, it feels like we're far too close.
Abruptly, I stand up and walk some steps through the room, bringing more distance between us.
"I don't know," I finally admit. "I just don't know. I thought I did, but… I don't."
On the sofa, Ken takes several deep breaths to compose himself. His expression is one of wariness coupled with a vague sense of hurt and a dose of pure and utter confusion. I can't even blame him.
"Look, I'm not saying I'm not where I'm supposed to be," I amend, if only to take some of the sting out of my words. "I'm just saying that –"
"You don't know," he finishes for me.
I shrug, then nod slightly. I'm feeling all kinds of awful.
"Okay. Okay." Ken, too, gets up from the sofa and crosses the room in long strides – away from me
Standing silently, I wait until he turns back around. "What I don't understand is… why do you not know? How do you not know?"
"Because… because it's just not that simple!" I throw my hands up, more in exasperation with my inability to find the right words than with his question. "It's just not that simple."
"As we've established," he observes, quietly but sharply, and I take a step back.
Still, we're here now. I couldn't walk this back anymore if I wanted to and honestly… I'm not sure I do want to. Four months didn't make this feel any better, so maybe it's time.
"See, it's… I don't know who I am without you and that scares me," I try, instead, to explain. "I was so young when we got together and I had no clue what I wanted from life yet. I just lived from day to day, not thinking about the future – or really anything at all. Then we met and I just… I just went with the flow and took the obvious paths, but I never stopped to… to consider whether this was truly my choice."
"No-one forced you into anything," Ken points out tightly.
I shake my head and sigh in frustration. "I know. I never said that. I never thought that. It's not that."
"Then what is it?" he insists. "Because I'm trying here, but I just don't get it."
And no wonder. I barely get it myself.
"Let me… let me try and explain it differently," I begin again after a moment of gathering my thoughts. "Look, to everyone out there, I'm only ever your girlfriend. I'm… I'm barely an individual person in the eyes of the world. It's only ever about being the woman you're dating. It's like… it's a position and it could be filled by anyone. I don't matter at all in this."
"You matter to me," Ken replies quietly.
Yeah. Trust him to go and say something like that.
I close my eyes and rub my face with my hands. "I know. I know that."
"But it's not enough?" he asks and suddenly, the air is filled with a ripple of something. A ripple of something that feels, well, dangerous.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully and still the air around us crackles.
Ken doesn't say anything, instead walking back over to the sofa and slumping down on it. "No, me neither."
He looks suddenly defeated and it makes everything within me hurt. But we've got this far and I feel that if only I could make him understand…
"I'm making a hash out of explaining. I'm sorry," I apologise, though I don't know if it really changes anything.
"Well, try again," Ken suggests, sounding resigned. "I'm listening."
I take several moments to collect myself and attempt to bring order into my mind, where all my thoughts seem to bounce around at high speed. When I think I have a beginning, at least, I walk over to one of the armchairs and perch on the armrest, facing Ken.
"I just haven't been able to shake the feeling that everything I did in the past years was because…" I pause briefly, wanting to get this right. "…because I seemed like the natural thing to do. Coming here and doing Oxford was so we could be together and everything I've done since, I did for the same reason. All my choices and everything I did was influenced by trying to keep this relationship going."
"And that's a bad thing?" he asks, looking at me so intently that I have to turn my head away.
"Not necessarily," I correct and look down at my hands. "I just don't know if I… if I missed something in-between. I don't… I can't help feeling that somewhere along the way, I lost myself. Or maybe I never really found myself in the first place. See, everyone around me has a passion or a calling of sorts, even you with the military – which I get now, by the way, more than I did before –, but I have… nothing. Just nothing. I have things I like to do and people I care about and a job I'm reasonably good at, but… I have nothing that I feel passionate about. It's starting to feel like I have no purpose except for being with you and if that's true, then you have to wonder whether the world isn't correct to see in me nothing but your girlfriend. I mean, it looks like even Sam sees me like that and he was always the one to tell me I could be more if only I dared to be."
"Well, it's true!" Ken replies hotly. "You're so much more than that!"
"Maybe, yes" I smile wanly at this attempt at loyalty, but I'm not yet done saying my piece. "There are a whole lot of maybes though and I can't… I can't make sense of them. Maybe I would have been the same person I am now even if we'd never met. Maybe I would have lived a quiet, unexciting life with no real goal and nor real purpose and maybe I'd have been fine with it. But maybe…" I hesitate for a moment as I line up my thoughts. "But maybe I would have found something that I haven't found yet – and haven't really thought to look for."
"Like what?" he wants to know and I can see how much effort it takes from him to remain calm and composed.
"Like –" I break off as the words I want to say slip from me grasp briefly and press my lips together in frustration. "Like… Look, my point is that I'm not even sure if I truly know myself. I mean, I know who I am, but I… I haven't figured out who I could be. I keep thinking that… that maybe there's something out there for me that makes me say that this is my place. Some sort of possibility I never knew about. Something that gives me a feeling of being able to apply whatever vague talents I haven't discovered yet. Something that makes me feel like this is why I'm here, this is my purpose."
"And you can't have that by my side." It's not a question and for a moment, the pain of it takes my breath away.
"I never allowed myself to look for it while at your side," I admit quietly. "I was too afraid to ask those questions for fear of finding an answer and that answer being…" I trail off.
"Right." He briefly hides his faces in his hands. "Right."
Except that nothing is right anymore.
He drops his hands and looks at me. "You know that a lot of things make sense now? Ever since I came back, you've kept me at a distance. You've been slipping away from me, little by little. I thought you were punishing me for leaving you and I understood that, but that wasn't it, was it?"
"It was part of it," I answer truthfully. "It was also because I felt confused and scared and trapped and it was easier, taking it out on you, than dealing with it. But also… yes. I was so angry with you that I didn't even know what to do with all that anger. Honestly, it might have been that very anger that finally made me start to ask all those questions. That and –" I break off and bite my lip.
I didn't mean to say that.
"And?" Ken prompts, raising his eyebrow.
I let my head hang and sigh. No way out of it now.
"After you left…" I begin, looking anywhere but him. "After you left, I had a… a pregnancy scare."
My admission is met by silence and when I dare sneak a glance at him, I can see he sits very still, as if struck by thunder.
"You were…?" he finally forces out, his voice strained and broken.
Quickly, I shake my head. "No! No, I wasn't – I wasn't. I thought I might be, for all of three hours, but… no. False alarm. It was just a scare."
It needs a moment for the words to register with him and when they do, he slumps over, shoulders dropping forwards and elbows on his knees, resting his forehead against his hands. Every fibre of myself cries out at the sight of him and the knowledge of what I'll have to tell him next. It hurts me to hurt him, unbelievably so, but if this conversation ever had a point of possible return, it's long past. Now, the only way is forward.
"During those three hours, I thought about what would happen," I continue, my voice trembling. "I knew we'd get married and raise that child together. That wasn't the question. The question was… I kept asking myself whether this was what I wanted for myself and… I had no answer. I still don't."
There it is.
That one thought I've been carrying with me for nine months, trying my damnedest to forget it and never succeeding. Because faced with the very real possibility of a future with him, I suddenly didn't know whether I wanted it – and in nine months, I became no surer on the matter. (Nine months. The irony!)
For the longest, longest time, Ken doesn't move. When he finally raises his head to look at me, I can't tell what he's thinking. "Do you know what's unfair?" he answers and his voice is to calm that it makes me shiver. "It's Sam who betrays you – but I'm the one to lose you."
The words are like a punch to the gut and for a moment, it's like I can't breathe.
It's not that I'm surprised. Some part of me knew all along we were heading for this moment, inevitably and with no hope of return. In some way, we've been heading towards it ever since that god-awful day at Balmoral when everything started to fall apart. Certainly, this conversation had no other possible outcome. And yet…
And yet, it's different, hearing it out loud.
Despite the inevitability of it, there's part of me railing against… well, against everything, I guess. There's part of me wanting to assure him that he hasn't lost me, that I'm going nowhere, that nothing of this is happening – but the bigger part of me knows it wouldn't do. We've come this far, but there's no way to go on from here.
"It's never been fair," I reply quietly instead and that settles that.
Abruptly, Ken gets up and walks through the room, to the very corner furthest away from me. He places a fist on the wall – not with force, but quietly, carefully – and lowers his head against his forearm. His shoulders move up and down as he struggles to control his breathing. Me, I sit on that armrest, silent and unmoving, tasting the salt of my own tears on my lips.
"I once asked you to tell me if you ever want out of this relationship," Ken finally speaks up, still turned to the wall. "I just want to make sure – this is you telling me, isn't it? Because if it isn't… if there's anything I could do…"
He'd fight for me if I told him there was a chance. And I want him to, so, so much, but there's no chance, not anymore, and it would be cruel to pretend otherwise. "Yes. This is me telling you." (When did my voice stop sounding like itself?)
A long moment pauses, before Ken finally turns. There's a soft smile on his face, but also a kind of encompassing sadness I'm not sure I've ever seen before. "I respect that," he states, very simply. "I just want you to know that I love you. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes. Yes, I know," I choke out the words. "And I love you. That's… that's not it. That was never it."
"No, it wasn't," he agrees sadly. "Love wasn't the problem. We just… couldn't make it work."
That brings out a fresh wave of tears that I'm powerless to stop. Through my blurred vision, I see him standing there, still with that sad smile, shoulders slumped and arms dangling by his side, and reflect how unfair it is that I'm the one crying.
"You know…" He looks away briefly, before turning back to me, his smile now one of wryness. "If, earlier today, I knew I'd never get to kiss you again, I would have kissed you properly. Made it a memory."
I don't allow myself to think. The very thought of never being in his arms again hurts too much to say and maybe that's what propels me forward. He remains standing, just watching me, as I stumble towards him. It's only when I'm in front of him and raise a hand to touch his face that he pulls me close and lowers his lips to mine.
The kiss is gentle and careful and loving and everything our kisses haven't been since the day he told me he was leaving. We tried our best – oh, how we tried – but I haven't fit quite right into his arms ever since that day. Every kiss and every touch has been off, somehow, in a way I couldn't put my finger on. Until now, that is. Now, it feels right, like it hasn't in so long, and for a brief, desperate moment, I find myself thinking, wishing, that maybe we can build on this, that maybe we can work it out after all, that maybe this could be enough –
But no.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'The End' (written by Jim Morrison, Ray Manzarek, John Densmore and Robby Krieger, released by The Doors in 1967).
To Guest:
Well, I guess this chapter answers your question. But don't worry, I'm not nearly done with this story =).
