Chapter 4: Bollocks
May 29, 1978
Location: Emma's.
I never had a happier workday than today. Laney yelled at me for tarrying upstairs, I worked the children's desk with Trudy the Cow, and Caroline ordered me to cut out sixteen sets of the alphabet on the Ellison machine for a craft project. I couldn't stop smiling. I was going to James's house.
Irving hadn't got home yet when I arrived, so I wrote him a note explaining where I would be for the evening. He could hardly be cross with me for having dinner with my boss.
Irving's lucky absence from our flat made sneaking out my three outfit options much easier. I packed my loot in a small suitcase and went to Emma's, where I am now. The two of us are concocting the perfect outfit. I brought two Muggle outfits and some robes as the third option, just in case. Witches and wizards had adopted Muggle clothes in the early seventies for everyday use. They're easier to manage than robes and they help us blend in when we're in the Muggle world, which is most of the time. Even though I live in Reigate, an all-magical city, I rarely wear robes. They're so bulky. Muggle clothes are a better match for me.
My first choice was dressier, a grey skirt I'd borrowed from my only suit and this black, short-sleeved tunic thing Emma gave me for my birthday. The other outfit was casual: blue jeans and a checkered tank top. Emma was frowning at both of them. She'd ignored the robes entirely.
"Well," she said finally. "You haven't given me much to work with."
Emma is never satisfied with clothes I pick out. I'll admit, she's about 10,000 times more fashionable than me, but she doesn't have to be so overt about it. She's basically banned me from buying clothes for her.
"Is there nothing you can do?" I felt like I was talking to a doctor.
She picked up the black top and looked it over. After a brief moment of consideration, she laid it over the jeans.
"This is the best choice you've got," she said, indicating her creation.
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you pick the top you bought me."
She smiled. "It is lovely. Now put it on - it's nearly six thirty!"
James asked me to come over at seven. Emma only lives three blocks away from him, so I can't see why she's worried about the time. Perhaps because I'm walking? I never Apparate. The first time I tried it, I splinched myself. Those were the most frightening twelve minutes of my life. Call my fear silly if you must, but that's just the way it is.
I surveyed myself in the mirror once I finished dressing. I have to hand it to Emma, she knows her stuff. She captured exactly what I wanted in my outfit - it was casual, and I appeared to have put in exactly the right amount of effort. I don't want to give the impression that I think this is a date.
Emma re-entered the room after going to fetch something from the bathroom. She had her make-up case.
"Absolutely not!" I said before she could open her mouth.
"But why, Lily? I'll make you look gorgeous."
"That would be too much. I can't show up to his place dressed for a date!"
"Lots of women wear make-up when they go out, Lily," she said, opening the case.
I looked at my watch. "It's six thirty-eight, anyway. I should leave now. We don't have time."
Emma looked as though she would challenge me. Then with a sigh, she closed the case. "Fine." Her expression softened and she moved forward to hug me. "Have fun tonight." She pulled back and looked me in the eyes. "And be good."
"Emma!"
She grinned. "I'm only joking. I know what a goody two-shoes you are."
"I respect the fact that he's engaged," I said with dignity.
Emma raised her eyebrows and smirked. Oh, like she can talk. I ought to tell you how she and Doug met. But right now, I've got to go!
- - -
I didn't want my nerves to build up beyond control on the walk to James's, so I brought along my Rubik's Cube to keep my mind off the subject. In all my years of playing with those blasted cubes to calm my nerves, I have never once solved one. Muggles definitely know how to make a person go bonkers.
I arrived at his house with four minutes to spare. The place was nothing fancy, but it was charming. You could tell a woman lived there by the overly floral garden, the frilled curtains in the windows, and the knick-knacks in the front yard. I wondered briefly how Melissa would feel if she knew I was coming over tonight.
I knocked on the front door. A dog barked inside. I heard it bound to the front door along with a pair of human feet. James opened the door, holding the collar of a beautiful Irish setter. A delicious smell wafted toward me.
"Hello," he said with a smile, struggling to restrain his energetic dog. "Murray is very excited to have a guest."
I laughed. "He's very cute. Would you mind if I pet him?"
"Sure, go ahead. He might jump on you, though."
I knelt down and pet his head. He was friendly; he didn't jump. When he licked my face, I was glad that I refused Emma's offer of make-up.
"I'm sorry," said James quickly, as I wiped my face. "Let me put him out back and I'll get you a towel. Come in."
I stepped into the foyer. I watched James walk to the back of the house where sliding glass doors led to the backyard. He wore casual clothes, too, unlike the black creased pants and starched, button-up shirts he wore to work. As I glanced around the house, I noticed that his bedroom door was ajar. I couldn't resist. I might never be in his house again, after all.
Four brooms were mounted on the walls. Each had broken. A plaque inscribed with a year and the names of two Hogwarts houses hung under every broom. `Gryffindor Victory' was written at the bottom of the plaques. I never knew James played Quidditch at school, but he had told me about being a Gryffindor like me. He must have been a Chaser, because a big red Quaffle hung amongst the brooms. There were also several Quidditch uniforms on the walls, although only one of them came from Hogwarts.
Melissa appeared to have claimed the rest of the room. There was an ironing board, a sewing machine, and "shabby chic" furniture; shabby chic is a terrible new fad where people deliberately buy or make furniture that looks like rubbish.
"Taking a self-guided tour of my house, are you?" James was behind me, extending a small towel. He looked amused rather than angry.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling ashamed. "I'm so nosy."
"It's all right," he assured me. "I should be apologizing to you for Melissa's furniture."
I wanted to be polite. "It's not...that bad."
James raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, all right. It is. I don't even think my grandmother would buy it."
James laughed. "I've never heard you say anything mean before."
Suddenly I felt bad. "I'm sorry. That was a bit mean."
James waved my apology away. "Don't be. I completely agree. I don't complain though, since she lets me tack up all my Quidditch junk."
"It's not junk!" I protested. "You won all those games! I bet you were really good."
James shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Anyway, shall we go to the dining room? Dinner is ready."
This was certainly curious behavior. I couldn't understand why he would display his Quidditch things on the walls and then deny his achievements. I resolved to solve this mystery by the end of the night.
For dinner, James served bangers and mash. Bangers and mash, in case you are not familiar with this pub classic, is sausages and mashed potatoes with onion gravy, and it is my absolute favorite food.
"I hope you don't mind the pub grub," said James apologetically as we sat down. "I'm not much of a cook."
"Me either," I said with a smile. "That's why I love bangers and mash." I happily began to eat.
James grinned.
"Where did you get those Quidditch uniforms on your walls?" I asked. "Did you play on any teams besides Gryffindor's?"
I hoped that if I got him on the topic of Quidditch, I could uncover his secret.
"No," said James. "They're replicas of my favorite players' uniforms. I used to wear them when I was a kid and I played Quidditch with my friends. The green and scarlet one is Dai Llewellyn's from the Caerphilly Catapults, and the dark green one is Darren O'Hare's. He played for the Kenmare Kestrels."
"I've never heard of them before," I said. "It must've been hard to track down their uniforms."
James looked bashful. "I made them, actually." He watched my face for a reaction. He probably expected me to laugh at him, but I didn't find it funny or silly at all.
"You actually made them?" I replied, thoroughly impressed. "They're very good. I thought they were regular uniforms. And you made them when you were a little boy?"
James was still bashful, but he smiled. "I wanted real Quidditch uniforms to play in when I was a kid. I asked my mum to make some for me, but she wouldn't. She said I'd have to learn for myself. I never had a sister, or any other siblings, so she was determined to pass on her talent to me. It took me years to admit it, but I love making clothes. I've made other things too, like the Quaffle on my wall." He stopped, looked at his plate, and poked at his mashed potatoes with his fork. A moment later, he looked at me again. "For the past few months, I've even considered ditching my post at the library and opening some sort of Quidditch supply store."
I'm sure my shock and horror at the idea of him leaving Reigate Library showed in my face, because he looked at his plate again and sighed.
"Yeah," he muttered, "I thought perhaps it's a bad idea..."
"It's not a bad idea," I said. "I'm sure you'd be great at it. It's just that...well, the library wouldn't be the same without you."
He brightened at this. "You don't think it's a terrible idea?"
I was staring at my plate, cutting a sausage with my fork. My eyes were stinging. All I could do was shake my head.
He picked up on my disappointment. "You'd really miss me if I left?"
I wonder at how I did not erupt with tears right there.
"Of course I would miss you," I said, forcing the sting in my eyes to go away. "You're the best friend I have at work."
He was surprised and touched. "And here I thought I was only a diversion from your chores."
"No way," I said. "You and Sherry are the only interesting people at the library. Everyone else bosses me about and doesn't care a bit about getting to know me."
"I can't see why they wouldn't care," said James. "You're friendly and caring and sweet. You make a wonderful friend. You're one of my best friends."
"That's why I wish you wouldn't leave." Then I felt guilty for my selfish desires, and I added, "But if a shop is what you really want, you should open one."
"I'm glad for your vote of confidence, but it'll never happen. Melissa would scream if I told her I wanted to be a small business owner. She's a big advocate for stable, lucrative, sure-thing kinds of jobs, like being a barrister."
He tells me about his dream shop, but not her?
"Wouldn't she rather that you try your shop and be happy than stay in a position you don't like?"
James chuckled. "No. I've mentioned before that I'm unsatisfied at the library and she started encouraging me to hang on until retirement. Can you believe it? Retirement will take practically my entire lifetime to get here. It would be a waste of time to mention the shop to Melissa, and it would end in us being annoyed with each other."
"How did you end up working at the library then?" I asked out of curiosity.
"I didn't know what to do with myself after I graduated. I figured I'd work at the library until I figured out what I wanted to do for real. I kept getting promoted and here I am ten years later. I still can't figure out how I managed to become the assistant regional librarian. I never thought of myself as a library kind of guy, you know? I don't read much, and I've never cared for - or understood - symbolism and all that."
It hit me strongly then how similar James and I are. He is also stuck in a boring job he hates. Melissa doesn't understand him, just as Irving doesn't understand me. James is unhappy. I am unhappy. I fell more in love with him that night.
After dinner, we listened to music in his living room. He told me to choose whatever I liked from his records. I saw an old doo-wop album lying amongst his more recent records. I love doo-wop. My delight doubled when "Life Could Be a Dream" played first.
"Interesting choice," remarked James with a smile. He'd been sitting on the couch, unable to see my selection.
I smiled broadly. "I love this song."
James stood and offered me his hand. "Then we have to dance to it."
I accepted his hand. I loved the feel of it in mine. "I am a terrible dancer," I warned him.
"I bet you're not," he said.
He led the dance, twirling me, dipping me, and doing every silly move he could think of. By the end of the song, we were laughing so hard that we stopped dancing. We leaned into each other to keep from falling over. He smelled good. I loved having his arms around me. They were firm and warm and, I imagined, loving. I'd never felt so close to someone, never laughed so much, with such abandon. It felt like we'd just begun to hold onto each other when we both let go. I hadn't noticed that we'd done so, or that we were staring each other in the eyes until he said,
"That was a lot of fun."
I straightened up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "I know. Everything has been a lot of fun."
"Maybe we should do this again tomorrow?" he said.
"I'll have to check with Irving about our plans first," I said. "I'll let you know tomorrow at work."
He smiled. "All right. Sounds good."
I really don't care if Irving has plans for us. I just need time to think things over. I don't know if I can handle being so close to him again.
"Thank you for inviting me over," I said. I had to get out soon. I couldn't suppress my tears for much longer.
We started toward the door. "It was a pleasure. I'm glad we're spending time together outside of work."
Soon I was outside in the dark. There was no way my Rubik's Cube could take my mind off this.
- - -
May 29, 1978.
Location: Emma's.
I couldn't go straight home after the dinner with James. How would I explain my torrent of tears to Irving? And I couldn't very well break down in the middle of the street either. No. I needed my best friend to comfort me.
At first Emma sat quietly on the couch with me, letting me cry while she hugged me and stroked my hair. Once I calmed down some, she asked what had happened.
"It was wonderful," I said miserably as I wiped my eyes. "The whole night was perfect. He made my favorite thing for dinner and he didn't even ask if I liked it - he just knew - and he told me about his Quidditch shop plan that he hasn't even shared with Melissa. Then he danced with me to one of my favorite songs...I just about died of happiness when he held me after...." I started sniffling again.
"After what?" said Emma, wide-eyed.
"After we danced, you dope," I said, blushing. "We were laughing so hard at our silly dancing and we ended up sort of leaning against one another until we caught our breath."
Emma sighed and pulled me close again, because a fresh wave of tears was overcoming me.
"Why do you put yourself through this torture, love?"
I didn't know the answer to that myself.
"Mummy?" Bella appeared from the hallway, looking sleepy. "Why is Lily crying? She woke me up."
I never had more disregard for children than I felt at that moment. Who cared if I woke up that bratty preschooler? She caused me enough annoyance on a regular basis. She didn't even know how good her life was, to be tiny and innocent and free of worry and problems and heartache.
"Bella, why don't you go back to bed?" said Emma gently. "Lily needs some comfort right now."
Bella walked to the couch. She stood beside me and patted my back.
"I'm sorry that you're sad, Lily. Do you want to borrow Big Bear?"
Big Bear is Bella's favorite thing in the entire world. It's a tan stuffed bear that she brings nearly everywhere. Her generosity and compassion floored me. I felt guilty for thinking mean things about her.
Still unable to speak, I nodded and accepted the toy. For that moment, I loved the little blighter.
- - -
Twenty minutes later, I'd composed myself enough to go home. I scrubbed my face in Emma's bathroom to get rid of the tear streaks and I decided to walk home instead of using Floo Powder, to give the redness time enough to leave my face.
I fiddled with my Rubik's Cube again on the way home. I'd made several of the sides show only one color, but a few odd blocks here and there robbed me of my success. Determinedly, I twisted and turned it, still not really sure of what I was doing after all these years. Frustration built up inside me. If I couldn't figure out my own life, I should at least be able to figure out a stupid puzzle box. As I went up the walk to my building's front door, I solved it. I had to look it over a time or two to be sure. I held it in my palm and stared at it, elated that I accomplished something worthwhile. I felt like I could do anything.
I bounded up the stairs to my flat. It was late. I didn't expect Irving to be up when I went in.
But he was. He was sitting on the couch reading a book.
I gasped; a sickening, cold feeling flowed through my body.
He was reading my journal.
O O O
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