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It was a fun night out. Ella went to a friend’s gig, falling into old patterns of daily life after her return from London. She’d fallen into a black hole the moment she stepped off the plane back home, and it took over a week to start crawling out again. But tonight, tonight she had fun. She’d vowed it before she left the house and stood by it throughout the gig. Leon was in his element, making the people in the bar laugh at his comments and silly stories in-between songs. He and Yossi had a cover show they did every once in a while, and Ella rarely missed a show in her area. It was her scheduled social activity – a Leon gig.
She had a cranberry vodka on the bar to her side and she’d been sipping through from it as the evening progressed, singing along to the songs, dancing in her seat. Leon did the one thing that always boosted her mood – he let her sing. Just a little, the female part of Teenage Dirtbag, but he called her up to the stage instead of hunting for an unsuspecting girl in the pub, and that made all the difference. His little act of kindness to her. Ella wasn’t a very good singer, but that one part was easy, and it made her happy. The moment she was off the stage she reached for her drink. Liquid courage.
Getting her high, he brought her right back down two songs later with his rendition of Use Somebody, which could make her sad in the best of days, and had her blinking away tears on a night like that. She blinked, sang along, waited for it to pass. In a song or two he’d have her laughing again. That was his way.
Ella stayed for a while after the show, hovering. Leon was her ride home, living literally a two-minute drive away. Once the show ended the bar emptied in record speed – everyone had work in the morning, and Ella sat, fidgeting, looking at the time on her phone over and over again. She, too, had work in the morning.
Back home she’d showered and crawled into bed, plugging her phone to charge. It was two weeks since London. Tom was in Canada filming his new movie. They’d emailed a few times but it was nothing substantial. Routine was wearing her down, and the constant reruns her mind played of their time together were draining her. Déjà vu all over again. It seemed sometimes that her entire life was spent hoping for men that couldn’t be. Wishing impossible things.
She scrolled through her messages to the one he’d sent to her mobile:
I also got this one :)
She stared, blinked. It didn’t make the tears go away. She typed a message and pressed ‘send’ before she could talk herself out of it:
I miss you :/
A minute later her phone rang. Tom. Her heart skipped a beat, then started racing. She tapped to answer.
“Hi,” she whispered. Any louder and her voice would break and she would cry.
“Hey,” one word and she could breathe easy. “I miss you too.” A sentence and her heart ached.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bug you.”
“You don’t bug me. I’ve been meaning to call but never knew if it’s a good time. It seemed like a good time now,” she could hear the smile in his voice, see it in her mind. “What time is it there?”
“Half past midnight. And there?”
“Five thirty. What time do you have to get up?”
“Seven.”
“Oh. You probably want to get to sleep then…”
“No. Not yet. Not now. What are you doing?”
“Having tea and going over my lines, it’s not terribly exciting,” there was a pause, she imagined him taking a sip of his tea. “What have you been up to?”
“I went to my friend’s gig, it was nice. He let me sing!”
“Oh? What did you sing?” the way he sounded genuinely excited about it made her smile.
“The girl part in Teenage Dirtbag,” she grinned.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” he said.
“I can’t. He lets me anyway.”
“Who’s he then?”
“Leon. He’s just a friend. I’ve known him for a few years.”
“Do you fancy him?” something in his tone changed. Was he jealous? Or just curious?
“I used to,” Ella said. There was no point in lying. The truth made no difference anyway.
“And then…?” he prompted.
“And then he wasn’t all that into me. And then it didn’t matter anymore. And then I met you,” it was so much easier over the phone. Even easier still in writing. She had a notebook that she was filling with letters. Letters she’d never send. Letters he’d never see. But they sorted her thoughts. And they were so much easier than saying things out loud, to him.
Silence. And then, “Sing something.”
“What? No!”
“Come on, you sang for a whole pub, sing something for me. Please?”
Ella swallowed, took a breath, wished for another cranberry vodka to magically appear right in front of her. It didn’t, so she settled for another breath and sang the first thing that came to her mind. The song had latched itself to him in her mind, forever associated together: “And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow / You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be and I don’t wanna go home right now / And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life / But sooner or later it’s over, I just don’t wanna miss you tonight.”
She filled the silence that followed before he could say anything, “and now you’re going to forget this ever happened.”
Tom laughed, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’ll deny it.”
“I’ll still remember,” he smiled. She could hear it. She could feel it.
“This never happened. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He laughed again, “Ella?”
“Hmm…?”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Silence. Ella turned to her side, pressing the phone to her other ear, staring at the wall in the darkness. “Tom?” she rarely said his name out loud, it felt as alien on her tongue as it was familiar in her mind.
“Hmm…?” the sound vibrated through the phone, through her body.
“Will you read me from your script?”
A pause, she could hear him swallow, then clinking. “Okay. Hold on, let me move to the sofa. Are you sure you don’t need to go to sleep?”
“Not while you’re here.”
“Ella, you need to sleep. We can talk another time.”
“No!” her voice cracked again and she swallowed. She will not cry. A breath and then, “Just read for me for a little bit. Please.”
She didn’t know how long he read. She closed her eyes and lost track of time, listening to his voice, paying no attention to his words. “Are you still there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she unglued her eyes. Rolled over again. “Do you need to go?”
“I’m sorry, I do.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Sleep, love. I’ll call you again soon.”
“Yeah?” love. Love. He’d called her love. In the darkness, in the half-drunk, half-asleep state of her mind, that word was the only thing she could see.
“Yeah,” he promised. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She fell asleep with her hand still on the phone. If there were any dreams, she had no memory of them in the morning. The only evidence that the phone call in the night had actually happened was a text message:
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.