LITMIR.BIZ

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your heart, my love. I will await.

      Your very parfait gentle knight

      MW

      Every night I’d retreat to my room and attack my diary. Matthew told me the decision was in my hands, but our mutual stumbling block was my virginity. He said he couldn’t ‘take the lid off’ that side of me because the first time would inevitably be disappointing and he didn’t want to ruin what we had. I agreed. Everyone said it hurt and I was sure I’d end up hating him. But how could I take the lid off with someone else knowing I was in love with Matthew?

      What I needed was a boy my own age who wouldn’t mind being used and whom I trusted enough not to tell the rest of the sixth form about my proposition.

      Richard was my target. We had been girlfriend and boyfriend for a short while in Year 10 and had remained flirty friends since. Our ‘relationship’ had ended when Richard had told me, quite seriously, that he had important and dangerous things he had to concentrate on to fulfil his destiny and he couldn’t be distracted by the usual trappings of teenage life. The gossip tree soon filtered to me that Richard had confided in his best friend Andy that he had been approached by an old homeless man while on holiday in Greece who had told him he was the Second Messiah and dark powers were approaching that only he could battle. Ever since, Richard had been bidding for Samurai swords on eBay.

      To sum it up, in Richard’s favour:

       Single

       Too focused to want a girlfriend

       Too self-absorbed to bother caring about my motives for such a deed

      And, against him:

       Possibly slightly unhinged.

      I told Matthew I had decided on a person. I suggested the thing to Richard via MSN Messenger. And Richard agreed. The how and where were a little more complicated, so, though it was only October, we decided on New Year’s Eve, knowing somebody would have a party. It was settled. I would pop my cherry as I was meant to: drunk and in someone’s parents’ bed with an acne-ridden boy I found only mildly attractive, and thus I would be free to explore the world of Uncles with one less worry.

      Then came the green candle.

      On 4th November, I received the lyrics to a Leonard Cohen song via email. The first line was blown up in bigger font and some words made bold:

      I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me.

      Attached was an extract from Matthew’s diary:

      November 2000

       So, old man, what are you going to do?

      About what? And who are you calling old? I thought we were only as young as we feel.

       Fool. I suppose you’re telling me she’s the elixir of life?

      Natalie? Yes, she might be.

       So, what will you do?

      I can’t hurry her. Her beauty and charm is in her innocence – she needs to find her own way.

       But what about you? What about your needs?

      My needs are less important than hers.

       Less important, perhaps, but no less pressing. Every man has needs; it’s foolish to deny them.

      Yes, yes, we’ve been down this path before. I know I must do something.

       So?

      Well, Suzie keeps pestering me.

       The PhD student who snaps at you if you bring her flowers and doesn’t care if you don’t call? Sounds perfect.

      Yes, and she tells me she’s spent the past six months in the gym.

       But..

      But every time I see her she tells me she wants my child.

      Yikes.

      Indeed. She says I won’t have to be involved, but I’m not so sure.

       You think she’s tricking you?

      Not deliberately, but women are irrational, they change their minds, especially when children are involved. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

       So, what’s the alternative?

      Becky’s eager.

       The one with the nice bum?

      Yes, you perv, the one with the nice bum. But she’s not much older than Natalie. Eighteen, and nowhere near as mature.

       Could be fun, though.

      Yes, perhaps.

       But..

      But my heart’s not in it, I suppose. Even though I know I need something and Natalie’s talking about experimenting with some boy from school..

       Wait! You’re talking about living like a monk while she goes around with spotty teenagers? You’re even more of a fool than I thought.

      Perhaps. A fool for love?

       Pah. It doesn’t seem fair at all.

      No, but she’s a child, I can’t expect her to understand. I can’t make demands on her.

       And what’s this email about? Are you lighting a green candle?

      No, maybe, no. No, I just want her to know how I feel. Perhaps I won’t even send it.

       And if you do?

      Nothing. Then she’ll know I’ve chosen what I have with her over anything I could have with the others.

       How very noble.

      Don’t be so sarcastic. I mean it. I love her. It’s real. For the first time in my measly, ancient life, it’s real.

      A bubble began to rise in my stomach as I read. Suzie and Becky. Who were they? Why should I care? Matthew said he was not lighting a green candle, but still sent me the lyrics to the song. What could that mean? The basement room where I was reading was lit only by the light of the screen and I imagined myself engulfed by a turquoise flame. I pounded up the stairs to my bedroom and scrabbled beneath my mattress for my diary.

      After an hour sprawled on my bed with a biro in my hand and tears in my lashes, I paced back down to the computer, praying my brother hadn’t gone to play his stupid Age of Empires game and read the email I’d left open on the screen. Happily I passed the living-room door and saw James cross-legged in front of the PlayStation instead.

      Back at the keyboard, I hesitated. As much as my fingers tingled to reply ‘No, don’t! I’m here and, yes, I’ll be an Uncle,’ my throat longed to scream that this was unfair, that I was being handled and manipulated and an Uncle wouldn’t do such a thing.

      My fingers won.

       From: Natalie Lucas <[email protected]>

       To: Matthew Wright <[email protected]>

       Sent: 4 November 2000, 22:42:03

       Subject: RE: One of Us Cannot Be Wrong

      The flame is burning moss. I have an in-service training day a week on Wednesday – can we find a Bunbury?

      Later, in my room, I doodled in my notebook:

       Am I condemned to be

       Number sixty-four?

       Will you tell your next girl

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