As I went into my third year at university here in Manchester something amazing happened. Ray left the team he was playing for and signed for and signed for a team here in the city. It was a move upwards for him, very prestigious, something he dreamed about as a boy in Cork. His hard work and determination had paid off. It was a bittersweet moment for me of course. I was naturally thrilled for him but it always stung to think about him.
Baba had come down from Edinburgh to visit for the weekend. Ray was having his first run out with his new team and part of me wanted to go and support him. He’d never know I was there, I didn’t even belong there, but I knew how much this meant to Ray, how excited and terrified he’d be. When I had my major gymnastics competitions the summer after I left Cork I wanted nothing more than for Ray to have been there in the crowd supporting me from a distance. Just his presence in the same room would have given me such strength and a feeling of calm. I wanted to do the same for him, even if it was really for me.
I casually told baba I was taking him to the football. He was surprised as it wasn’t something we ever did together and I fed him some rubbish about fancying a change. We had been to a match before in Paris when I went on a work trip with baba during the school holidays once. Why not, I said. Baba smiled and let me lead the way.
Baba didn’t know anything about Ray. We just didn’t have that sort of relationship. He was, and is, a great father but there was an invisible barrier there. One of the reasons he left India was to get away from the regressive culture. He knew all about his background and his parents' marriage of convenience. The arrangement worked for them, but it was still just an arrangement. They loved each other dearly but his father was a homosexual. It was always a sham. Neither of them knew true love or fulfilment. He couldn’t bear to think of what his ama went through to bring him into the world on her own. Despite his escape from the conservative indian culture he was still more reserved than my friend's parents. Boyfriends were never a thing when I was still living at home, I’m not even sure if it would have been allowed. I never had time between school work and training. Baba and I were very reticent on personal matters. I instinctively held back on my love life and I’m sure he did too. Baba had no idea Ray even existed.
I honestly almost vomited when I saw Ray run out onto the pitch. He looked so handsome. So serious and intense, focussed and ready to destroy anyone who dared get in his way. He wasn’t wearing the boots I gave him, but why would he be, I bought them three years ago. Come on Khalilah get a grip. I didn’t take my eyes off him the entire match. He was so passionate. It was his passion and drive that I loved. Nobody else on the pitch wanted to win as much as him. I screamed myself hoarse when Ray SCORED TWO GOALS. ON HIS DEBUT!!! Absolutely fucking sensational. Baba was laughing at me, no idea I enjoyed football this much. I shrugged, trying to act casual, a massive smile on my face. ‘Oh, that lad, he comes from Cork. I’ve seen him around, Brendan knows him,’ I muttered. Baba nodded, whether knowingly or not I couldn’t tell. Maybe he could see right through me or maybe he took my words at face value. How could baba know the boy I was screaming for had fucked me under a bridge every night for weeks when we just could wait to get home when he picked me up from work?
I was thrilled and sad for the rest of the day. Baba and I ate out in Rusholme after the match and I found it hard to get anything down. I felt sick and my blood was extra hot after seeing Ray again. I loved when baba visited but I just wanted to be on my own, to lie in the bath, or face down on my bed and brood and feel my feelings.
Ray was in the same city as me again.
*
I was out for a run one Sunday not long before my finals began. I’ve always found running pretty tedious but I wasn’t training endless hours in the gym every day any more and running was a good way to keep fit and clear my head. I was running through Alderly Edge, a well heeled village south of the city about three miles away from my own home. I was thinking about the parallels between the work of Thomas Hardy and John Steinbeck and how much I love them both when something caught my eye. Or rather someone.
It was his hair I noticed first, then his determined, arm swinging walk. I had slowed my run down without even realising. My shoulders were somewhere up around my ears. It couldn’t be.
I ran along the street to get a better look.
It fucking well was.
It was Ray. Oh my god. Ray was walking along the pavement ahead of me. He had a newspaper under his arm and bottle of milk in his left hand. He was wearing dark blue rustly track suit bottoms and a grey tshirt. He stopped for a moment at a kerb to let a car pass then jogged across the road.
He must live near here, I thought. I casually jogged along the street trying not to draw attention to myself. Don’t mind me, I’m just getting some exercise. I crossed the road, never taking my eyes off him. He was about twenty metres ahead. I hovered behind a tree as I watched him push a door open and enter a building that looked like an old mill. No lack of those around here. It had been converted into modern flats. I couldn’t tell which flat was Ray’s, but at least I knew where he lived.
I leaned against the tree lost in my thoughts for a few minutes until it occurred to me I must look weird. I started to run home again, taking a different route to avoid being spotted from the windows of the mill. If Ray saw me I’d look like a stalker.
I stumbled over my own feet and actually tripped and fell as I was running back to my house. No damage done and most importantly I don’t think anybody saw me. I was a wreck of nerves and fear and excitement. Ray lived three miles away from me. I had been pining from him for so long. Wanting something I couldn’t have, our ambition being the thing that attracted us to each other ultimately being what pulled us apart.
And now he was right under my nose.
Nobody in my family mentioned Ray anymore though. I think they assumed I had moved on now and it was bad taste to talk about an exboyfriend. Ray could have completely moved on. He could have forgotten me. He could have fallen head over heels in love ten times since I last saw him. He could have a steady girlfriend. Maybe he is nursing wounds from being apart from someone again. He could have been hurt terribly and hates women and sworn off relationships. Any number of things could have happened, Ray was never the type to stay home feeling sorry for himself, quite the opposite. He could be married. He could have kids of his own. Oh god.
I mulled this over for a few days. I drove myself mad. All the things that could have happened since we last saw each other. I realised there was only one way to settle this and it was to see him. This required me to empty all the pockets from every pair of jeans and coats I own, and empty every drawer and dig deep down the back of the settee to find every last bit of courage I had. I was still shaking with fear.
I dressed in something that looked like I’d made no effort but had maximum impact. A sleeveless summer dress that came down to mid thigh. It was the dog days of summer and just about warm enough to get away with it. I put on trainers because I hate heels and I didn’t want to look desperate. I went to the local butcher and bought two nice steaks because I’m no fool, and bought some new potatoes and tomatoes and broccoli from a market stall. I bought some cans of guinness from the Co-op and drove over to Alderely Edge.
I was shitting absolute bricks now. I was parked next to the old mill trying to talk myself into it then talk myself out of it whilst actually hitting my head (lightly) off the steering wheel. Eventually I had enough of my own bullshit, took a deep breath, grabbed my shopping and stepped out of the car.
I walked to the door of the flats. The security door was wedged open. How fortuitous! I stepped into the building feeling like a burglar. My heart was battering my ribcage. The first door I came to said Hussain. Well, clearly not Ray.
I tiptoed up the concrete stairs and there were three more doors. I crept along the landing. Williams, Archibald and Barnett.
My blood was so hot I don’t know how it hadn’t turned to steam. I went up the next flight of stairs. The name plates said Mason, Lines and Keay.
That only left one more floor. I was ready to be sick. What was I doing? I quietly gave myself an imaginary slap in the face like I was a hysterical 1950’s housewife. I carefully climbed up to the top floor. The first door I came too, I could tell right away it was his. There wasn’t a nameplate on the door, but I could hear the strains of Bob Dylan playing inside.
I got goosebumps down my arms and legs. Before I could second guess myself I knocked on the door. The music turned off. I heard footsteps shuffling towards the door.
‘Who is it?’ he said.
‘It’s Khalilah.’
