Loving Danny (25 page)

‘I wish you weren’t away in Manchester,’ I said.

‘I know. But I’m still here for you.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That means a lot.’ It meant the world to me. I felt that we had reached an understanding. Even if we couldn’t share experiences first-hand we
could still support each other. And, at last, I knew that despite our differences, our friendship could move forward.

‘I think I pushed you away, Deb,’ I said. ‘I didn’t intend to.’

‘It’s OK. It’s my fault too. I was so caught up with uni and you were so caught up with Danny. It happens.’

‘I’m not sure I can cope without him,’ I said. ‘I’m scared, Deb.’

‘I know you’ll be OK, whatever happens. Don’t forget that you’d finished with him – you were getting on with your life. You were making plans. You’re tougher
than you think.’

‘I wasn’t happy, though. It felt like a big part of me was missing. I think I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t really over – that something else would happen.’

Debbie was quiet for a moment. ‘You know that John Donne poem about the compass, the one we did at school? Maybe that’s how you should think of things with Danny. Maybe you have to
let him go. If you really are soulmates, if you’re really meant to be together, then, somehow, you’ll find your way back to each other.’

Long after Debbie had fallen asleep, I lay awake, thinking about what she had said. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the only way I would ever find out whether Danny and I were meant to be
together was if we were apart.

By the time I waved Debbie off at the railway station, the following morning, I had made my decision.

I
sn’t it weird how the truly significant days of your life often begin as the most banal? Isn’t it? Debbie took the train back to
Manchester, Emily got on with her homework and my mother cooked Sunday lunch. My bus took its usual route to the hospital, the traffic was as busy as ever, the other passengers as impatient and
uncommunicative. Nobody asked me how I was or where I was going. And no one took any notice of the small rucksack I carried on my shoulder. The sky didn’t fall in and the world kept
turning.

The nurse grinned at me as I came into the ward. ‘Hi, Naomi. I just need to let you know that we’re moving Danny today, to the psychiatric unit.’

‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m only popping in for a minute.’ Danny’s eyes lit up when he saw me. I noticed that he had washed and shaved and combed his
hair, in preparation for my visit. He resembled the old Danny again, and it made my heart skip a beat. I had been a fool to think this would be easy, to believe I could control my emotions.

I swallowed. ‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘You look better.’

He nodded and smiled and I looked at him, as if for the first time, taking in his beautiful eyes and the curve of his nose, trying to memorise the detail of his features and the way that he
moved.

And then I kissed him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss – the setting and the situation didn’t allow for that – but it was a deep, slow, satisfying kiss that embodied all the
emotions I felt but couldn’t explain: hurt and regret, sorrow and fear, love and affection, loss and hope – all rolled into one wordless expression. I didn’t want it to end.

Danny was the first to pull away. ‘You’re saying goodbye, aren’t you?’ he asked, his voice no more than a whisper. He looked into my eyes with a gaze so intense that I
knew he had read my mind, that our connection remained as strong as ever. It was agonising. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t cry again, but my tear ducts refused to obey. Salty water
cascaded down my nose, into my mouth and my hair.

‘I’m so, so sorry, Danny,’ I said, forgetting the long speech that I had prepared. Quoting words from a poem seemed trite, telling him that he was in the best place, that I
wasn’t qualified to help him, patronising. Nothing I’d meant to say seemed relevant or important now. All I could muster was, ‘I can’t do this any more.’

I don’t know whether it was arrogance or delusion, but he would not accept it. ‘You’re seriously giving up on us?’ he asked, with a strange, guttural laugh that unnerved
me.

‘Yes, Danny,’ I said. But I wasn’t ‘giving up’ – that made it sound so easy. I was fighting every instinct and feeling that I possessed, trying to do what I
thought was right.

‘What – that’s it?
Finito?
You’re going to walk out on me when I’m in hospital?’

He was playing the guilt card. Of course he was – I should have anticipated it.

Be brave, Naomi
, I told myself.
You’re not a bad person. You’re doing the right thing.

‘Yes, Danny, I’m sorry.’ I couldn’t look at him – it hurt too much. I wanted this to be over now. Clumsily, I unzipped the rucksack that I had brought with me. It
contained some CDs, books and a sweater he’d lent me. ‘Look, I’ve brought your things.’

‘I don’t want them,’ he said, turning his head away. ‘Hang on to them until I’m out of here and then we can talk about it.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘There won’t be another time. It’s over.’

‘You’re kidding yourself, Omi. What we’ve got is too important for you to just walk away. You need me.’

He still didn’t get it. Why didn’t he get it? Was I going to be there all day, going round and round in circles, until I couldn’t bear it any more and gave in? Why
wouldn’t he let me go?

‘But I don’t really love you any more,’ I said. I hadn’t intended to say it – at least I wasn’t aware of any conscious thought process – the words just
tumbled out of my mouth of their own accord. It was a lie more terrible than any I had ever told, a lie far worse than any of his. I half expected a bolt of lightning to shoot in through the window
and strike me down; I almost wished it would. But, at the same time, I knew it was the right thing to say, the only way I could ever put an end to this. Danny needed to be adored; he wouldn’t
want to be with anyone who didn’t love him absolutely. The slightest doubt about my feelings would be enough to make him loosen his grip.

‘I don’t believe you, Omi,’ he said. ‘I know you love me – I felt it in your kiss.’

‘Believe what you want.’

Lying to Danny – and to myself – had freed me. Now that I was acting, my true feelings buried, I could say whatever needed to be said. ‘The fact is,’ I continued,
‘I don’t feel the way I did.’ I remembered the words Mike had used when I’d asked about The Wonderfulls, and added, cruelly, ‘Being with you is too much like hard
work.’

Danny flinched. ‘Tell me right to my face that you don’t love me,’ he dared, still defiant.

I took a deep breath. It was harder to say a second time. ‘I’m sorry, Danny, but I don’t love you.’

He began to shake and I couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or anger. He had grown so pale that for a moment I was scared he might pass out. Then his face hardened. ‘Go on,
then,’ he said coldly. ‘But remember this: no one will ever love you the way that I love you.’

‘It’s not enough,’ I said. And that, at least, was the truth.

I turned and walked away from his bed, as fast as my legs would carry me, but it felt as if the end of the ward was growing further away with each step. Every patient I passed seemed to have
Danny’s face, to wear his pained expression. Their eyes bore into me, hating me, accusing me.

When I reached the doors, I glanced back. Danny was still sitting up, his eyes vacant, his lips parted as if he were about to speak.

I hesitated.
Just call out my name
, I thought,
and I’ll take it all back.
But I knew it was far too late for that. The best that I could hope for was that one day, when he
was well, he would understand my reasons and realise that I wasn’t a terrible person. He would see that I did love him after all. Painful as it was, I had to believe that.

He said nothing.

So I pushed open the doors and walked out into the cold, brightly lit corridor to see what life without Danny had in store for me.

I
never saw Danny again.

Mike kept in touch with me just long enough to let me know that Danny had gone to the private clinic his mother had told me about, and that he had done well there. The last I heard, he was
planning to go back to university and finish his degree.

I hope he is still writing songs and playing, somewhere. It’s possible, I suppose, that he has given it all up and joined the rat race he so despised. Maybe he now wears a suit every day
and goes to work for his father’s company. I’d like to think that isn’t true, that at least some part of the person I loved remains.

For a long time, I would watch music shows on TV with some trepidation, in case the next new band to be featured was fronted by Danny. I know it’s selfish, but to my relief, it never
happened. I often think how awful it must be to have loved someone famous, to have constant reminders of them forced upon you every day.

Perhaps it makes no difference. Once a lover has imprinted himself on your mind, it is impossible to wipe him clean. I can go for weeks, months even, without thinking of Danny and then something
– a phrase, or a smell, or a joke – will conjure him up again, as clearly as if I’d seen him the day before. Occasionally, he will feature in my dreams, and I will wake wondering
if I did the right thing, feeling guilty for abandoning him, hoping that he has forgiven me. I’m happy now, but if things had turned out differently, could I have been happier?

If I know anything at all, I know this: I will never forget Danny. He has left a D-shaped scar on my heart, just as real as the O-shaped scar he will always wear on his arm.

Many thanks to: Brenda Gardner, Yasemin Uçar, Melissa Patey and everybody at Piccadilly; my agent, Janice Swanson at Curtis Brown; Celia Duncan, Diane Leeming and
everyone at
CosmoGIRL!;
Bibi Lynch for being my first critic; Nula Bealby for putting up with me; Mum and Dad for the peaceful writing week in France; Matt Whyman for his wisdom and
experience; and all my friends for listening and being there. Love and thanks to my husband, Steve Somerset, for the song lyrics for ‘Take It Now’. And finally, a bittersweet thanks to
all the Dannys I have known, loved and lost.