I was a student, maybe twenty years old, living in London and still acceptably getting pissed every night without cause for concern.
She was a little older, and I met her in a pub not far from where I lived. She wasn't local, as local as anyone gets in London anyway; was on some work trip that would keep her here a week. There wasn't much space in the pub, so we sat at their table, my friend and I, and I heard her northern accent above the others. I usually wouldn't have struck up conversation with a stranger, but she was very pretty, and I was very drunk.
We hit it off. We went to another bar and we danced, and I invited her back to mine and she came.
We had another drink when we got there, and sat on the bed for a while, just talking. She said we should do this again sometime, while she was still here.
'Give me your phone,' I said to her. 'I'll put my number in.'
She had one of those phones with a photo for the background, and I'm not that old but it wasn't so common at that time. But she picked it up as I said it, and turned it conspicuously away from me, and said, 'No, just tell me it. I'll put it in.'
Something about the action struck me as strange, and being drunk gave me the confidence to ask about it. 'Is it the photo?' I said. 'You don't want me to see it, do you?' She gave me an unusual sort of smile and everything seemed to click. 'You've got a boyfriend,' I said. She repeated the smile, and for a moment I thought she wasn't going to answer. Could've just pretended. Then she shrugged. 'I'm engaged,' she said. 'I've got a little boy.'
I might not always have been the most faithful person myself, but I always hated myself for it and I've made a point to never get mixed up the other way. But I liked her, and I'd had a few too many for morality to really take effect.
She had painted nails, I remember, red, and they were chipped by now, and I took her hand and asked if she was happy. She shrugged again.
'We have a child together. What can I do?'
I think I told her it was important to be happy. It was bollocks too, in hindsight, but I suppose at that age I wasn't so disillusioned with the idea of happiness and I still had another six months before my own would start to go. Being a student is a selfish time, and I hadn't realised yet that sometimes you can't do what makes you happy. I hadn't thought about her child enough.
We slept together. And I felt awful next day, but she said we should do it again sometime. I didn't really want to, but I told her I might be around again in a few days' time, wondering if she might be gone by then.
I woke next morning to twenty eight missed calls from a number I didn't recognise. It went again even as I looked at it, and I answered to a man with her accent. I put it down.
He text me. What's happened, I've seen the messages, I know you've been with her, I just want to know what you've done. Fuck knows how he knew, but he did. I replied saying yes, I'd been with her but nothing happened. I'm sorry, I didn't know. He said that's ok. It's not your fault if you didn't know. I wasn't protecting her so much; more myself, for fear of what he'd say. She rang later to ask me what I'd said, asked if we could meet. I knew I shouldn't have but I told myself it might be best to sort this out.
She apologised for the trouble. We had such a lovely time I almost forgot to feel bad. She sent a message later double-checking what I'd told him, and thanking me again for not giving her away. I said it was fine, I'd just tried to play it down. And then she left. I forget where she was from exactly, not too far from Manchester I think, and she'd gone and we didn't speak again and it was like she'd never been here.
Then, over a month later, I woke one day inundated with texts from this man. Play it down? he said. I'm going to have you fucking killed. You're not going to pull anyone with your face smashed in. I'm going to fucking kill you, you lying piece of shit.
I spoke to him and all I could say was I'm sorry, I was scared, I didn't want to cause any problems. So much time had passed I'd met somebody else, and we were at the start of what would eventually become a long-term thing. I told him that, I told him I'm seeing someone, I haven't spoken to her since, nothing's going to happen. He said he hoped my partner knew what a lying cunt I was. And I couldn't really say anything.
I know it takes two and all that, but I played my part and I never would've done it if I'd been in my right mind. I don't know how much misery it caused but I doubt their family went undamaged. And I'm going to regret that for a very, very long time.
And I am so, so sorry.
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