Lucy in the Sky

to see him again?’ he asks me listlessly.
    ‘James…I can’t not…’
    ‘I’m going out.’ He turns away.
    ‘James! Don’t!’ I follow him in dismay. He’s putting on his jacket by the front door and his face is drawn, white.
    ‘Please don’t go.’ I take hold of his arm but he shakes me off, slamming the door behind him.
    Have I just lost my boyfriend? I ask myself wildly. How the hell did that happen? I sit on the sofa in disbelief. After ten minutes I try calling James but his mobile diverts to voicemail. Where has he gone? Maybe he’s on the tube.
    When his phone does eventually ring, he doesn’t answer it and after a while he switches it off. Either that, or he’s on the tube again. I pray it’s the latter; that he’ll be home soon. But at 11 p.m., after an evening of confusion and anguish, he texts me to say he’ll see me tomorrow. I immediately dial his number to call him back but he diverts me, and the next time I try he’s switched his phone off again.
    He doesn’t come home that night, and I feel sick to my stomach. It’s awful; on a par only with the flight to Sydney when I thought he’d cheated on me. I briefly consider calling Nathan but I can’t talk to him about this. I can’t talk to anyone–they’d only say I brought it on myself. In the end I cry myself to sleep.
    At about ten o’clock the next morning, Nathan calls me himself, merrily saying hi until he hears my voice.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ His concern sends me over the edge and I start to cry again.
    ‘James…James left.’
    ‘Why?’ he asks. ‘What happened?’
    ‘We…had…an argument,’ I stammer, trying to breathe. ‘He didn’t come home last night.’
    Nathan listens as I continue to cry quietly down the phone, neither of us speaking. I can’t let on that we were arguing overhim. That’s the last thing I can do, which just makes me feel worse. As I calm down, I realise he hasn’t spoken for a good couple of minutes. God, he must think I’m a total wreck. I am a total wreck.
    ‘Nathan?’ I ask. Is he even still there?
    ‘Yeah. I’m here.’ I understand then that the poor guy just doesn’t know what to say. What can he say?
    ‘Are you okay?’ I ask him. ‘Did you get plenty of sleep?’
    ‘Yeah, yes, I’m fine,’ he says, brushing me off.
    ‘Is Richard there?’ I ask banally.
    ‘Er, no, he should be getting here around midday, I reckon.’ He’s evidently uncomfortable and I suddenly feel horribly ashamed that I sobbed down the phone to him. The silence is deafening. What must he be thinking? If anything was going to slam home the reality of my boyfriend, this perhaps is it.
    ‘What are you doing today?’ I ask, trying hard to act normal, but it comes out sounding weak, pitiful.
    ‘Um, I don’t know. Just getting ready for work tomorrow, I guess.’
    ‘Are you looking forward to it?’ I ask awkwardly.
    ‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ he answers. ‘Look, Luce…’ His voice trails off and I hold my breath, wondering what he’s going to say. ‘Why don’t I call you next weekend, hey? I’ve got a busy week at work and…’ My heart sinks with every word. ‘…you know, give you time to sort things out with…James, you know?’
    ‘Okay,’ I answer monotonously. ‘Okay.’
    I wish him good luck at work and we hang up.
    After that, I curl up into a ball and sob.
    Well done, Lucy, you’ve probably lost your boyfriend of almost four years and now you’ve scared off Nathan as well.
    I don’t want to lose James, though. Not yet. I don’t know about ‘not ever’, but definitely ‘not yet’.
    When he walks in looking dishevelled and unshaven at two o’clock that afternoon, I rush out to greet him.
    ‘I’m so glad you’re home!’ I wrap my arms around him. He gently but firmly detaches me and heads towards the bathroom, shuts the door in my face and locks it. I gravely wipe the tears from my eyes and go through to the kitchen. I must pull myself together. We must stop this. We must sort this out.
    When James comes through after ten minutes, I say that to him, firmly. He doesn’t answer.
    ‘Where did you go?’ I demand.
    ‘You don’t get to ask me questions like that.’ He speaks to me like I’m a stranger.
    ‘Can we talk about this?’ I plead.
    ‘Do you know what?’ He turns to me and eyes me malevolently. ‘I’m fed up with talking about it. Let’s just call it a day, hey?’
    ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, alarmed. ‘You don’t mean…split