chapter 3

rose tint

March 2015

We sat on the tan leather sofas. Will was doing his best to look relaxed. He smelt good; a strong aftershave marketed at men like him: fresh, sexy, fancies himself as a bad-boy. I wore a simple black vest with skinny jeans and converse trainers. Under the vest—which I could tell he was trying to see—a quarter-cup bra, matched with a lace thong, and stockings under the jeans. I liked the feeling of concealing sexy lingerie, it was something I’d first tried when I was a teenager, a surprise for my boyfriend’s birthday. Then I tried it again when I was single, and I liked it even more. Since then I’d done it regularly, just for myself, regardless of whether I was going out for the night or doing the food shop.

Of course, if a man was lucky enough to undress me then he would go crazy when he discovered what I was wearing, and that was exhilarating too, but first and foremost I did it for me. Different outfits gave me different sensations and energy. The structures, the framing, the exposure, the restriction, the stretch, the pull, the softness, unexpected seams and random fastenings, almost visible under my regular clothes. I walked with more swagger, I spoke with more confidence. It was self-stimulation of body and mind, a delicious secret, a quiet power.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said.

“Well, you’re not so bad yourself,” I replied. “I bet you could get any girl.”

“It’s the army, it makes things so complicated,” he replied, bringing his dark brown eyes back to me. A sensation arose: shyness, something I hadn’t felt with a man for a long time. I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear. It wasn’t normally like this, I usually felt completely in control.

“It must be such a strange life.” I said, as we eased into conversation, cocktail jazz taking the edge off the gaps between sentences. “Everyone else is just walking around, doing their thing, shopping, eating out, watching movies, just thinking about themselves and their little lives. And there’s you, in the middle of a war, surrounded by… fear,” I said, before I could take it back, wishing I’d used a less serious and mood-killing word.

“I’m used to it, I guess,” he shrugged.

 “Wanna see the view from my room?” I nodded upwards.

“Freedom,” I said, lying on my side, naked apart from the stockings, replying to his question about what was important to me. “Everything I do is in pursuit of freedom.”

I think you’re amazing… just going after life, getting what you want, making things work for you. I wish I could be more like that.

“If you don’t like the army, why don’t you just leave? Who’s stopping you?” I asked, genuinely not knowing whether soldiers signed some sort of contract which tied them into months, years, or decades of service. “You’re young, you could do anything. It’s your life, you only get one chance at it—well, at least I think so anyway—unless you believe in reincarnation…which I do actually…but I don’t believe you remember the life you’ve just lived… so it’s irrelevant then really, isn’t it?” I stopped, conscious that I may have divulged too much of my weirdness; I looked at him for his thoughts on the matter.

“I can’t,” was his reply.

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated,” he said again, stiffly. “I can’t just leave.” His passion closed down. I paused, not understanding, not wanting to come across naïve.

We exchanged numbers, an act which felt flat and cumbersome after the last hour of flying high on dopamine.

“Come and see me again?” I asked vulnerably. I didn’t like how out of character I sounded, “Maybe when you’re next on leave?”

He came close and held my gaze as if he was counting every eyelash. “Try and keep me away.”

I didn’t stop thinking about him from the moment he left, falling into complete infatuation. The next time he visited was just as heated. Sex with him was feverish and intense, we talked deeply afterwards. His eyes were sad about something, but he wouldn’t open up fully.

“I’ve just not been myself the last year,” he said. “I keep looking for things to make me feel better. I bought a new car and normally that would make me happy… but I’m not fussed about it at all. And then I met you, and I just can’t believe how awesome you are,” he looked down. “I never expected that. But I can’t give you what you deserve,” he said.

“I know, but that’s ok. Things have a way of working themselves out,” I replied, with a hopeful smile.

“I don’t expect you to wait. Just save the best bits for me,” he kissed my neck, sending a wave of shivers over my skin.

He closed the door behind him, I felt suddenly hollow. I wanted more time with him, but he always had to go.

I made a decision; I’d return to Jersey, commit myself to my creative endeavours full-time, plan to get back to England and see Will as soon as possible. Now that my finances were a bit more settled I could afford to focus on new art projects. Whether I could focus my wandering mind away from being in bed with him was another thing. But I’d give it a good go.

At the airport I drifted through duty-free, images flashing through my mind of my recent stay in London. Without thinking I headed for the perfume aisles, towards the men’s section. Picking up bottles and sniffing them, I stopped in my tracks. It was the one he'd been wearing that first day we met; my head rushed at the stirring scent. I doused the entire strip of sample card with the spray, folded it tightly and tucked it into my wallet, taking it out obsessively over the next hour to inhale and be transported back to his body. While waiting for my flight I sent an email, saying I wanted to wait for him.

I don’t expect you to, he wrote back. I can’t give you what you want.

Pining away in my little cottage, I created a world for myself where I would wait patiently for my hero. The thought of him got me up in the morning; visions of us reuniting got me to sleep at night. I sent him texts with no replies and put it down to his job or lack of phone signal. An overriding ecstasy blocked out any fears, carrying me through days and weeks until I heard from him again, when we’d arrange a time and location to next meet on the mainland.

I invited him to the island and imagined showing him all my favourite beaches, but he always said he wouldn’t have enough time. I ignored the Magician card which also popped up in my tarot readings. In its more formidable form it represented shapeshifters and ill intentions; I chose to see its favourable traits: ‘talent, strong capability, resource to succeed’. When the Death card made an appearance I re-shuffled the deck.

I threw myself into my artwork, feeling happier and more at peace than I had done in a long time. Committing myself entirely to my ideal of what Will and I would one day be, I was completely uninterested in any other men, and it served me very well. I’d been distracted by sex and potential relationships for so long, now I could just sit back and get on with other things.

Romantically inspired, my painting took a new route. I started to paint dreamy scenes with beaches, sunsets, tropical flowers, mythical-looking women; pouring all of my emotions into the ice-cream-coloured skies and turquoise seas. I began printing the images onto fabric, turning them into framed textiles and cushion covers. I created an online shop to sell them in, I worked on my platform, teaching myself to build a website, promoting it on social media. I felt so driven to make money from my new quirky enterprise, it felt amazing to follow my intuition into another new chapter. Life was so beautifully unpredictable when I just followed my heart. My feelings for Will—and my determination to see him—put me in a state of permanent euphoria which I wouldn’t let anyone break. My little world was rose-tinted, and I really liked it that way.

Sitting in the pub toilet cubicle, the message from Will came through. It was all over. I woke from the dream. I’d followed my heart; life had given me theunpredictable.The rose tint turned grey.