Just for the Rush

‘Are you ready yet?’ Rick called from downstairs.

‘I’m just doing my makeup. I’ll be down in a minute.’

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Into my eyes. Trying to look inside myself. Why did I feel so miserable? It was my birthday. A birthday celebration should penetrate through the darkness and dispel at least some of the shadows.

I lifted the mascara brush and swept it up along my eyelashes.

When I finished with the mascara I put the brush back in the bottle and the bottle in my makeup bag, then took out the mauve lipgloss that matched my hair.

My hand shook as I opened my mouth to apply it.

The wobbliness in my stomach expressed itself with a desire to be sick. I didn’t want to do this. I wasn’t in the mood for a quiet, romantic dinner with Rick. It wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my birthday. I’d rather be in a club with Milly and some of my other girlfriends. I’d rather spend the night sharing large cocktails with a dozen straws, jumping up and down and dancing badly because I could barely stand up.

But Rick would be upset if I told him I didn’t want to spend my birthday with him.

I shoved the lipgloss into my makeup bag, then zipped it up and looked at myself in the mirror. My hands ran over the creases of my black dress, trying to straighten the clinging material. I pulled the hem down to the top of my knees. It would ride up again when I walked. But so what? I’d have my coat on and we’d spend the evening sitting down at a table.

I breathed out, steeling myself for this. It really wasn’t a good thing that I had to force myself into going out with my boyfriend, but I was just down. I’d been down and trapped in this darkness for months, though.

‘Ready.’ As I walked downstairs, he smiled at me in the way that said you look gorgeous.

My lips lifted in a quick, answering smile.

‘You look good,’ were the words he said aloud.

‘Thanks.’

He had his coat on already, a bomber jacket. He was so broad and muscular that the fitted styles rarely fitted him.

‘Hey, cheer up it’s your birthday.’

I looked down so I could slip my feet into my sparkly gold stiletto heels. His hand ran over my hair then settled on my shoulder for a moment.

I glanced up and smiled at him. The thing about Rick was that he was so nice I could never say anything bad to him. I couldn’t tell him no, or shout at him, or argue with him. But inside I was screaming. His kindness was confining. I was trapped. How foolish was that? Other women would think their fairytale had come to life with a guy like Rick. It was selfish and mean to not be happy. I should be happy.

I wasn’t.

I was in a prison with glass walls – and comfy slippers, and soaps to watch on the TV and cardigans to snuggle up in.

‘What is so bad about that’? My mum would say on the rare occasions I dared to complain.

Nothing. Nothing was wrong. So why did it feel like this life was strangling me.

‘Come on, then.’ He held my parka coat up for me to put my arms into the sleeves. He was such a gentleman. Other women would scratch my eyes out to get at Rick if they knew about this offer of a perfect masculine package that I was not appreciating as I should. He picked up the keys, then turned and opened the door.

‘Where are we going?’ Please God tell me we were not walking around to the local Chinese that we went to at least once a month, at least let it be somewhere different.

‘You’ll find out.’

Oh, whoopee! A surprise! How fucking radical! I was such a mean bitch to him at times in my head, even though I would never say the words aloud. He was too nice to be sworn at.

A black cab waited outside our two-storey flat in a terrace in a London suburb.

Rick walked ahead and opened the door of the taxi. ‘Here.’ He held the door as I got in, then sat next to me and pulled the door closed.

Sometimes the glass walls on my prison closed in and became solid.

‘Did they tell you the address I gave when they took the booking?’ he asked the driver.

‘Yep.’

‘Great, thanks.’

I looked out at the houses illuminated by the streetlights. The year was heading towards mid-winter. Christmas. Time was going so fast. I held my clutch bag with both hands because I didn’t feel like holding Rick’s hand. We’d had loads of settling-down conversations this year, and the number of them had been building since September. ‘Do you want kids?’ ‘What would you prefer first, a boy or a girl?’ ‘Where would you get married if you had a choice of anywhere?’ ‘Do you see us always living in London?’

Maybe that was the problem – I didn’t see me and Rick always doing anything. I could never imagine the future. I only thought about now. And since I’d been depressed, I couldn’t even imagine being happy again. So why would I care about five years from now?

Rick had ignored my lack of enthusiasm every time I’d shrugged off his questions, with comments like, ‘I never thought about it.’ I’m not sure if I want kids.’ ‘I’m too young to think about that.’ ‘We’re fine as we are, aren’t we?’ ‘Isn’t living here, okay?’

The cab driver put the left-hand indicator on. There was no street to turn into. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah,’ Rick answered.

The cab turned into the car park of the boutique hotel that was just up the street from us. The taxi had been a decoy; we could have walked. But at least it was something different. We hadn’t been here before and I’d heard good things about the restaurant.

The cab stopped and Rick got out without paying, so I suppose he’d already covered it.

When we walked up to the door leading to the reception, his arm lifted and hung around my shoulders. My heart thumped. I was so miserable I felt uncomfortable when he touched me. But possibly because I felt guilty about being such a bitch to him in my head.

Sex was the worst. Sex had become endurance, and that was cruel. Because he played rugby, so he had a good body; it shouldn’t be awful to do it with him. But it was.

I kept telling myself it was the depression, and he was really understanding, as ever. He didn’t push me if I said I wasn’t in the mood, and he kept telling me I’d get better. I’d kept telling myself that the depression would go away too. But I didn’t feel like it would.

The hotel had a fun vibe; the walls were decorated with dark glass and deep-purple colours, and there were gilt accessories everywhere.

He smiled at the receptionist as we walked past, then pointed at a door as his arm slid off my shoulders. ‘Go on.’

I pushed the door, but it didn’t open easily. I had to push both of the double doors to get either one to open. Then the music kicked in, Katy Perry’s ‘Birthday’. The room was dark but at the far end disco lights were flashing, green, mauve, pink and blue.

‘Surprise!’ The room full of people yelled at me.

I turned to look at Rick. He grinned at me. ‘You said you wanted to do something different.’

‘Yes.’ I could hardly breathe. I hadn’t imagined this. See. He was soooo nice. Sooo thoughtful. How could I not love him any more? Or had I never loved him and only just started realising it? Maybe I’d grasped at all his niceness because he’d loved me, and how could I have turned my back on that?

‘Ivy, darling.’

‘Mum.’