The Stranger

(by John Gabriel)

Episode 4

Saturday nights are always the best. Fridays you get most people out, but Saturdays are the one. If you’re a student then you can count on most nights being decent ones, but you really know you’re going to have a good one on a Saturday.

Jake was my mate. Not my best mate, despite the protestations on an evening that he fitted the criteria. No, he was alright was Jake. Just not that close enough for me to care that much.

Now Christy was a different matter. I’d met her a good few weeks before I’d met Jake. She was on the same floor as me when we were in halls at university, but we never really said more than hello. I distinctly remember the first conversation we had. I longed to hear her voice when I’d passed her on the stairs and smiled at her, so for some reason I managed to pluck up the courage and invite her to a made up get together in the local pub, and shockingly, she agreed. Having quickly arranged some diluting friends for the evening, I tried to engage her in a conversation that involved something other than "How’s the course going" or "what are your plans for after university?" Good grief, what was I thinking of? We were only two months into freedom and I was asking how she was going to tie down the remainder of her life.

I was surprised by her warmth. I was also surprised when Jake turned up and she flirted outrageously with him and ended up going home with him as I stood swaying by the bar.

It was a pattern that was to punctuate our university life. Jake and I would often spend our lives in pubs either with or without Christy, but without fail Jake would end up with the girl. Either his or someone else’s. It bothered me to begin with, but then I got accustomed to my supporting role. I was the eternal gooseberry, the one who hailed taxis and organised extra condoms. It was my lot and one I was happy to assume, albeit grudgingly.

September can be a warm month. Some days shorts and t-shirt can be the weather and for girls, the hem lines are still being worn short. On such a day I was in the pub with Christy awaiting Jake. As usual, he was late. The only reason Christy was there was because we’d finished lectures early and I’d caught her coming out of class in time to catch the tube along to the nearest pub with a beer garden. By the time we reached there, the two chipped and peeling picnic tables in the concrete patch had been taken by a group of sweaty office workers and two old age pensioners in drab overcoats.

To describe what happened next would be to describe any other summer’s day drink-fest in every town up and down the country. For my own part, I remained reasonably sober, mainly due to the fact that I had thrown up quite badly around 9pm. Christy for her part had been magnificent. She’d matched us both for pints and even suggested chasers at one point. The end of the evening came when Jake and Christy jumped into a sirocco argument that blew across the pub and engulfed them both without their knowledge. "I’ve had enough" Jake confided. "Take her home will you and I’ll dump her in the morning. I can’t stand to do it now, especially as she’s so pissed." What can you do? When a friend asks a favour and it’s so (drunkenly) heartfelt, the least you can do is comply. "Of course I will" I slurred. I caught Christy’s eye at this point and could see that her expression lay somewhere between desperation and resignation. If I thought I’d loved her before, I knew now that I loved her even more so at this moment.

"Let’s get a taxi" she said, but there was no way I was going to let this moment be ruined by some vacuous eejit with nothing better do of a Saturday evening. I was determined that this break up could be my opening into Christy’s life.

"Taxis’ stink. Let’s walk. You probably need it and I certainly do. I’m sorry about Jake" I stuttered to her, all the while hoping that my empathy would at least give me the opportunity for closeness.

"You know, you’re such a nice man. I knew that when I first saw you. I remember thinking, here’s a guy who looks like a safe bet"

"Safe bet? What does that mean?" As if I didn’t already know. Women liked the dangerous ones, not the fluffy slipper ones. I was the kind of chap who walked you home when the last bus was missed. The one who phoned your friends when you were just a bit too far gone to get home in one liquid piece.

"Ooh, what am I saying!!! I didn’t mean I fancied you! No, I meant that you would probably make someone a really good friend, and I’m lucky that that someone is me."

Could a compliment ever sting so much as that? Could a kind word as meant by her really dagger deep into my soul, never mind my heart?

I changed that minute. I’d seen possible encounters fizzle by the upturned lights of the nightclub. I’d had them snatched away by returning boyfriends at the end of the night. I’d had potential girlfriends tell me after the cuddles and alcoholic cheek kisses that they’d gone too far and it was time they left before they "did something they’d regret." Well not this time. I loved Christy and I was determined to get something out of this evening. Be it a kiss or further, I wasn’t going to let this moment pass without a result. I felt duty bound to escort her home and not end up with a peck on the doorstep.

My house backed onto a river and a useful shortcut was out the back via a playground and across the concrete banks. Christy took some convincing, but eventually she saw sense that to wait at home for Jake was not the best way to prolong her relationship. In fact I got the distinct impression that she was really wanting to hurt Jake and what better way than with his best mate? Did I see it, or did I imagine it? God bless strong lager, it really gives you a better insight into relations.

Swings and roundabouts. Bark floored of course, but they are the way forward. It’s after this that things get a little hazy. I remember haranguing some old tramp and staggering across the climbing frame with Christy laughing like a drain. I also remember arriving at the back of the river and looking across to the estate where we stayed. I’d left my spotlight on in my room and I pointed it out to her. I never got her to my bedroom. I swear that, I’m sure. I tried to kiss her and she pushed me away. I apologised, stumbling into her chest and stuttering further apologies, but still desperately needing to kiss her. She held me briefly but wouldn’t bring me any closer. Her elbows set up a protective shield against me. Why did she feel the need to protect herself from me? Wasn’t I supposed to be the safe one?

I can’t remember getting home, but I do remember waking up with sogging wet jeans and grass stained shoes. My head felt like concrete had been poured in through my ears, but essentially it was any other Sunday morning.

Christy died in hospital two days later. They said it was hypothermia.