I Unlove You (50 page)

“
I think I
can,
”
I say, pushing my hands into my pockets.
“
I think
it
’
s safe to say I
’
m
retired.
”

Laughing, he slaps his thighs.
“
That
’
s a good one. I
think I retired ten times before I hit
twenty-three.
”
He straightens his back and brushes down his blue
corduroy pants.
“
You going to tell an old man what
happened?
”

“
Long story.
”

“
Didn
’
t you hear? Old men
love long stories.
”

“
I doubt anyone could love this
story.
”

“
I doubt you can tell me
anything I haven
’
t gone through
myself.
”

I choke another laugh.

“
We have a doubter, I
see.
”

“
Let
’
s say I hope you
haven
’
t gone through what I have.
”

He smiles, enticing me into
more.

“
Look, it
’
s been an
awful few months. That
’
s all.
B
and I were together
for a long time, she did some dreadful things, and now
I
’
m trying to get on with life.
”

“
But you don
’
t know
what life
’
s about anymore, right?
”

“
Exactly.
”

“
And the letter? From her, I
take it?
”

I nod.

“
Always the worst, when they
refuse to let go. I
’
ve been on both
sides of the fence in my time. I
’
m not proud of
stringing certain lasses along, especially knowing how painful it
is when you
’
re kept on their
leash. Either way, it doesn
’
t tend to end well
for anyone.
”

“
Do you ever escape
it?
”

“
The leash?
That
’
s for you to decide,
”
he says, his cheeky smile on show
once more.
“
The thing is, you can choose to blame them, or yourself, or
someone else forever, but it doesn
’
t fix anything. At
some point you have to forgive, because until you do,
it
’
s impossible to forget.
”

“
Are some things not
unforgivable?
”

“
Sure. But is anything worth
imprisoning yourself over?
”

“
Maybe. If it protects you from
it happening again.
”

“
Prison doesn
’
t protect
you, son. It imprisons you. That
’
s it.
That
’
s all.
”

“
Yeah,
”
I whisper.

“
Look, I don
’
t know
what she did, but I can imagine it hurts like hell. I once fell in
love with a girl named Bethany, by far the most beautiful woman
I
’
ve ever known. On the outside, that is. On the inside,
it was never right. But, boy, I loved her, and for two years I
thought we were happy. We got engaged and everything. I looked
after her, because that
’
s what we did back
in those days. I was ready to dedicate my life to her, and then one
afternoon I came home from work and caught her in bed with my
friend Jimmy.

“
I may not look like much these
days, but back then I had a reputation. I used to box and play
rugby, so Jimmy didn
’
t walk for a while
afterwards. But as much as I battered him, she battered me worse,
and for a long time I didn
’
t think
I
’
d find anyone else. I didn
’
t want to. I
mean, if you can
’
t trust the girl you
love, and one of your best friends, who can you
trust?
”

“
How did you?
”

“
Move on? I suppose I
didn
’
t. Not consciously, anyway. I just kept getting up
each morning, going to work, and one day it no longer hurt. I
remember seeing Jimmy a year later, and didn
’
t feel
much. I didn
’
t want to hurt him.
I didn
’
t want to say anything to him. I saw her a few
years later, too, with another guy. I smiled at her and walked
away, because she no longer had any power over me. So long as they
have that power, you hurt. You cling to it. You blame it for all
the bad things in your life, but what
’
s the point in
blaming? It
’
s up to you to live
and make something of yourself.
”

“
So you forgave
her?
”

“
I suppose so.
It
’
s not like I intended to or decided to, but
time
’
s a great healer. And when you least suspect it, life
tends to introduce you to a maze of opportunity.

“
Take my Sheila, for instance. I
didn
’
t meet her for another decade, and to say I fell in
and out of love in the meantime is a damn understatement. Sometimes
I was the one who caused the pain, and sometimes it was them. It
hurts either way, but one thing I learnt is it
’
s better
to love than to sit at home alone, even if it
’
s short
lived. Life is so static and slow without love, but flies past in a
colourful blur of chaos with it. Take it from an old man, you
don
’
t want a black and white existence, son. You need
colour. You need chaos. You need love.
”

I
look at my shoes and consider how slowly life
’
s ticked
by recently. Compared to the fast-paced existence of school and
university, this year feels more like a lifetime than a few hundred
days.

“
It isn
’
t as easy as
that,
”
I
say.
“
You can
’
t just decide to
forgive and forget, can you?
”

“
Of course you can. This is your
life, son. It isn
’
t easy, but nothing
about anything ever will be. When you find your own Sheila, it
won
’
t be easy. The journey you take until you find her
won
’
t be easy either. But so long as you make sure
it
’
s colourful and chaotic, who cares?
”

I take a deep breath, but he cuts
me off.

“
Look, I remember how I felt
during those low times when I was a young lad like you. I remember
what it was like, waking up, going to work, going through the
motions. You don
’
t realise how many
precious seconds you waste. When you get to my age, you appreciate
time
’
s value. You also appreciate what
’
s
worthwhile, and what isn
’
t.

“
I was an angry kid. I was an
angry young man. I got into fights, I made trouble. I spent far too
much time hating people, but those who know me today would never
guess it. Sheila finds it difficult to hear my old stories, because
she can
’
t comprehend how I used to be like
that.
”
His face softens, the cheeky smile no more.
“
You
don
’
t get your time back. Hate is such a pointless
emotion, and it brings no respite whatsoever. Just more hate. More
pain. More slow, tedious, boring moments you never get to
re-do.

“
Now, I don
’
t know what
this
B
girl did to you, and I
’
m not saying she
deserves forgiveness, in my experience, they rarely do. But this
isn
’
t about her life. It
’
s about yours. The
longer you hold on to her, and hate her, and cling to the pain and
sadness and longing, the more time she steals from
you.

“
Let her write those letters.
Let her be the one who refuses to let go. Read them, burn them,
throw them away, it doesn
’
t matter. Take
control of your life and choose to live it. This
city
’
s a playground for a young lad like you, and I
don
’
t mean to sound like some old cliche, but you have
your entire life ahead of you.
”

In
an instant, I
’
m cold.
“
What if I
don
’
t know how to let go? What if I
’
m not
ready to?
”
I whisper, my upper lip quivering.

“
Do you want her
back?
”

“
No.
”

“
Why?
”

“
I couldn
’
t. Not
after everything she did.
”

“
Then you
’
re ready.
It
’
s never easy to let go of someone you love, but let me
ask you this, has the last few months been easy? Has hating her
made you feel any better? Has it helped you move
on?
”

“
No,
”
I whisper.

“
It never will. I speak from
experience, son. I
’
m a foolish old man
who took far too long to figure life out. Thankfully, I did in time
to meet my Sheila, and more importantly, allow myself to appreciate
her; to fall in love, not just with her, but our life together. She
drives me bat-shit crazy, but I wouldn
’
t re-do a
second of it.
”

A slow and growing rumble rattles
down the tracks, clunks turning to clashes, which finally transform
into squeaks. A large carriage skids to a stop in front of us,
matted in dirt, dust and grime.

“
Are you waiting for this
train?
”
he asks.

“
No. I don
’
t have a
train to catch.
”

He
nods, leaning forward and struggling to his feet.
“
It
’
s nice to
meet you,
”
he says, smiling.
“
I know
it
’
s hard to see life
’
s magic when
you
’
re stuck in its mud, but it
’
s there.
It
’
s always there. Do your best to keep your eyes open
and forgive. With forgiveness, you forget, and when you forget, you
eventually move forward.
”

He brushes down his beige fleece
and walks towards the track as a group of strangers descend on the
platform.

“
Thank you,
”
I say, but he continues without
looking back.

As
he steps onto the train, a few other bodies join him, but within
seconds I
’
m alone on the platform again with only the
whistling wind and icy chill; the ding-dong announcements and
echoed conversations from nearby platforms; the squeaks and
thunders of shoes on concrete; and the rumble of a train engine, a
train that houses a man whose name I don
’
t know but
whose life story I do.