O' for the love of Shakespeare (3 page)

Mum prattles on about a recent wedding she has
just been to of one of her friend’s sons, the Bride (who was apparently much, much
younger than me…) looked absolutely radiant.  Let the jibes and feeling of
complete worthlessness begin.  I understand of course my mum wants to see her
only child get married, I just wish I could have one evening without talking
about it.  Tonight is heading the same way as so many others so I try to change
the subject.

“Have I told you where Vic and I are going to
this weekend Mum?”

“Yes I think so; did you say Vic’s brother is
married now?  He’s the same age as you isn’t he darling?”

Arrrhhhhh it’s like talking to a parrot who
flat shares with the Editor of a bridal magazine.   Hmmm Stewart, slightly
awkward story there.  It was not until graduation that I met the man, other
than Shakespeare, who would star in my fantasies for the next twelve years. 
There I stood in cap and gown, my mother fussing around my appearance,
periodically picking and prodding, when I caught sight of an Adonis on the
other side of the room. 

Enter Stewart.
 

He was the complete cliché of tall, dark and
handsome.  Our eyes connected for the briefest of moments and he smiled, making
his light brown eyes crinkle at the edges.  Although I guessed he was a similar
age to me he seemed older - not like the grunting zombies that I went to University
with.

All I had the strength to do was to nudge
Victoria in the ribs to alert her to this apparition.  The loudest scream ever
erupted from my friend as she took off in full sprint, hurtling herself at the
stranger who caught her in a full bear hug.  Of course my drop dead gorgeous
roommate knew the hottest man I had ever seen.  After what felt like eternity
of them talking animatedly to each other, she grabbed him by the hand and
dragged him towards me.  I felt faint and was sure my whole body was turning a
very unattractive shade of puce.  Not succeeding whatsoever, I tried to compose
myself before they reached me.

“Darling Jane, this is my super dooper
wonderful brother Stewart, Stew is a complete brain box and has just graduated
with a First in Law from Oxford University.  Stew this babe is my best friend
Jane, she has studied English and not to be outdone by you, she too has got a
First.”  Vic stood looking smug, glancing from me to her brother and then back
again.  Although Vic had often spoken about her twin brother Stewart, he had
never visited her at University and I had not put much thought in to what he
would actually be like.  Until now.  My mouth literally dropped open, flies
could have flown in and had a party that’s how long my mouth remained open.  I
can only imagine he thought I was having some kind of seizure.

“Congratulations Jane.”  Stewart said with easy
confidence kindly choosing to ignore my catatonic state.  He leaned down and
kissed my cheek, I still remember the slight roughness of his stubble grazing
my face as he pulled away.  I think I then mumbled something like “oh um yes
you too right,” in reply. 

Over the twelve years that followed this first
meeting, myself, Victoria and Stewart often met as a trio going together to
bars, clubs and theatres.  After University we had all moved to London, I to be
closer to my family and Vic and Stew moved there for work.   Stew joined a
small legal firm where he was well on his way to being made Partner and Vic
went to work at a high profile PR company where she could schmooze for a
living.

Occasionally when we went out, Stew brought
dates but more often than not it was just the three of us.  I secretly
harboured the fantasy that the reason behind this was because I was his idea of
perfection and no other woman could ever come close to me.  However, as I was
his sister’s best friend he could never cross that line.   Well this could have
been true. 

We would sit together, Stew speaking eloquently
about whatever legal case he was working on whilst Vic and I looked shocked at
where the world was heading.  This would give me the opportunity to stare
unashamedly at him, allowing me to fantasise about a multitude of sexual
scenarios involving me, him and no clothes.  He had this navy blue suit with a
faint pinstripe, it was my favourite.  As soon as he finished work he would
always remove his tie and open the top two buttons of his shirt.  I would stare
at that small ‘v’ of bare skin for hours while he spoke, wondering what the
rest of his body looked like.

But I did nothing all those years - nor did he
show any inclination that he was interested in me, despite me analysing every
word and movement he ever made towards me - hoping for just the smallest sign. 
Although I was incredibly attracted to him, I loved his sister and I wouldn’t
do anything to jeopardise my first real, sincere friendship.  I thought it
would change what Vic and I had if I started a relationship with her brother. 
What would happen if it ended badly between Stewart and I?  However, if I was
perhaps being more honest with myself, I would admit that I was also petrified
of him rejecting me.  What if I confessed and then he laughed at me?  He was
after all, well out of my league.  So I had the odd uneventful, unexciting
flings generally with men I met through work, but nothing worth noting.  Until
April last year.

As usual we three had made plans to meet at a
bar after work in Shoreditch, but at the last minute Vic ditched us to meet up
with her man of the moment, something that was becoming an increasingly
frequent occurrence.

“We don’t need to stay out, your sister isn’t
coming anymore so let’s just rearrange our get together.”  I said leaning
across to Stew so that he could hear me in the noisy bar.

“No, come on, let’s make a night of it, I’ve
had a shit day at work.  I’ll get us some drinks?” 

Stewart could always make me laugh and we had
spent so much time together over the years that we were easy in each other’s
company.  After I do not know how many drinks, we ended up in a dark, lively
bar where people grinded against each other on the dance floor.

“You really are incredibly beautiful Jane,” his
fingertips brushed up my arm sending tingles everywhere.  This was it, just
from this slight touch I had gone from the fear of hurting my dearest friend to
the image of Vic and I arranging mine and Stew’s wedding laughing at how we
would be sisters.  My wedding gown would be ivory definitely not white, I could
not pull off white with my pasty complexion.

His hand moved to my cheek his fingers tangling
with my slightly sweat dampened hair.  My hands jumped to his broad, toned
shoulders going up on to my toes ready for the kiss that would change my life
forever.  My eyes flickered open for the briefest of moments to savour our star
crossed union.  This unfortunately was my undoing and I retched instantly.  I
swayed on my feet praying not to vomit in his mouth, on him, or anywhere in his
vicinity.

The bar fell away from around me and in its’
place I stood in beautiful exotic Illyria, my tongue mechanically poking around
in Cesario’s, or should I say Viola’s mouth.  Viola’s expression mirrored that
of my own, eyes wide open in complete horror and fear.  Uh oh. 
Twelfth
Night
one of my favourite stories; the shipwrecked twins fearing that all
has been lost.  Viola disguising herself as the boy Cesario for her safety, as
she enters the Duke Orsino’s service.  But all is lost. 

The moment broke and I saw Stew’s face up close
but all I could see were Vic’s straight nose and almond brown eyes.  It was
Stew’s face but it was also Vic’s.  Why had I not seen it before?  I may as
well have been snogging my best friend.  The similarity between them was
astounding. As Shakespeare wrote ‘
one
face, one voice, one habit, and two persons! A natural perspective, that is and
is not!
’  Lesbianism, whilst nothing wrong with it, was not my thing.   All
my years of longing and fantasies came crashing down in spectacular and
extremely disturbing style.  That is the thing with lust, it can crumble as
quickly as it clouds one’s judgement.

I pulled away from Stewart and without a word I
fled.  Stewart did not follow me nor did we ever speak of that night again. 
Six months later he announced to his family he was engaged to a Legal Secretary
called Olivia. 

Exit Stewart.

“Earth to Jane!  Seriously darling I think all
you do is live in some magical other world that only you can see.”  But at
least they accept me there.

“Sorry Mum, yes Stewart has just got married. 
Vic and I went; it was in some big fancy mansion in Surrey somewhere.”  One of
the most painfully disconcerting days of my life so far.

Although I know my mum would love to do the
wedding bit with me, I don’t actually think that is really what it is all about,
it is the bit after that she is waiting for.  By her plans I should breast
feeding a small tribe of little ones by now that she can coo over of a weekend
like her friends do with their grandchildren.  She wants photos to show around
of chubby little cherubs all dressed in matching sailor suits. 

Being the only child, the job of providing my
parents with grandchildren is all down to me.  I however do not feel my life is
lacking from not having a child, I love my home, my independence and being able
to do really whatever I want.  It is however more than that, I hear women
talking about the clock ticking and that all they can think of is a little
podgy human crowning out of their area but I do not yet have that maternal
pull.  I like being able to go out in the evening at the last minute with Vic
and I am pretty sure it is classed as bad form leaving a child alone while you
pop out for a drink with your friend.  The fact that I am lacking someone to provide
the sperm is also a small piece of the missing puzzle.

“Wouldn’t that be nice, a lovely big
traditional country wedding.”  Mum says dreamily.  “I wore a lovely yellow suit
to the wedding the other week, all my friends said I looked a good ten years
younger than I actually am.”  She runs her hand up the back of hair making sure
it is all still perfect.

“Mmmm.”  I say rolling my eyes.  I really do
not want to talk about Stewart or weddings right now especially with my mum. 
“Anyway Mum, Vic and I are going to Stratford-upon-Avon this weekend, staying
in a really pretty looking Bed and Breakfast.  If it’s nice there maybe you
could take dad, there for a few days away?  A little break?”

“Why would I want to do that?  I have enough of
your dad at home let alone going on holiday with him as well.”  Mum chuckles.  Silly
Jane.

Enter Dad, rosy-cheeked from his walk. 

Dad finally returns home from his walk and we
are ready to sit down to eat, my dad is as always quiet and brooding whilst mum
fills the house with noise.   Looking at old photos of dad, when he and mum
first met, you wouldn’t recognise him now.  He was once handsome and rakish. 
Over the years dad has enjoyed a few too many of mum’s dinners and is now a
little round.  His shirt buttons pull against the fabric in protest.  With dad
I think of the colour grey; his hair, his clothes, everything is grey.  Mum is
the stained glass to his monochrome world.

Dad can be incredibly benevolent, but he can
also sink into pettiness especially when it comes to mum.  This is how this
house has always been, but the divide of personalities is even stronger now
that dad has lost his purpose of work.  Mum complains about dad being under her
feet at home but really I think she is in her element that he is always here
now to do her bidding.  Dad though needed that daily distance to miss her.

Mum has cooked sausages and mash but the thing
that really makes the dish, the crowning glory, is the superb onion gravy.  I
resist licking the plate once I am finished.  Dad however comes back from the
kitchen with a slice of bread to mop up the gravy.  He makes occasional humming
noises showing his approval for the meal.  Mum beams at him pleased with the
compliment.  Once every last crumb is devoured, mum clears away the plates. 

“I’m in all of a tither with this pudding, can
you please come help me darling?”  Mum shouts at dad through the serving hatch
between the kitchen and dining room.  Dad groans as he lifts himself from his
chair, most men my dad’s age make this noise as joints are starting to ache but
I know my dad makes this noise only when he is subject to the beck and call of
my mum.  It is a different type of a groan, more of a growl than a groan.

I watch them through the serving hatch.  They
are on good form tonight compared to the sulking I have been witness to on
other visits.   Their relationship has been so extreme - always either absolute
contempt and hatred or unbridled passion.  Not a healthy relationship by any
stretch of the imagination.   I would catch them sometimes in the kitchen just
looking at each other, vines and trees would grow from the work tops and sink. 
Puck mischievously sat in the corner of the kitchen, watching, waiting.  Like
the ethereal King and Queen Fairies, Oberon and Titania, from
A Midsummer
Night’s Dream
, either all-consuming love or at the battle lines of war. 
Shakespeare’s words of ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’ could
have been written to describe my parents’ relationship. 

“Oh just sit down you are no help at all.”  Mum
seethes as my dad who not saying a word returns to the dining table groaning
once more as he takes his seat.  I smile thinking that the quote ‘many a good
hanging prevents a bad marriage’ from
Twelfth Night
could also fit quite
adequately to their situation.