Ghosts

by Dolly Alderton

The sexiest, most exciting, romantic, explosive feeling in the world is a matter of a few centimetres of skin being stroked for the first time in a public place. The first confirmation of desire. The first indication of intimacy. You only get that feeling with a person once.

“See—this is why we’re so frightened of all of you.” “Are you frightened of us?” “Of course we are. That’s why we’ve always tried to keep you quiet and lock you up and bind your feet and take away all of your power. It’s because we were so scared of what would happen if you were as free as we were. It’s pitiful.” “What’s there to be frightened of?” “All of it. You can communicate and synchronize with each other in a way men never will be able to. You have tides within your own body. You’re nurturing and magical and supernatural and sci-fi. And all we can do is…jizz on our own stomachs and hit each other.” “And make small talk in car parks.” “But barely, though.”

He’s sold his house to go live in Belgium. But I’ve always thought Belgium would be a rather splendid place to go mad in, so good for him.”

Men always have to keep a low flame burning for every ex. It will be flickering in there for him, even if he doesn’t know it is. Whereas women always have to extinguish it.”

We trick ourselves into being close until we really are close, then we trick ourselves into seeming distant to stay as close as we can for as long as possible.

Why did I have to correct her? Would I have done the same to Katherine or Lola? What was it about mothers that lowered a woman’s irritation threshold by a metre just from speaking?

“I’m not sure if I believe that really exists,” I replied. “I know what you’re trying to say. But ‘I love the gays but don’t care about the poor’ can’t be described as liberal in any sense.”

“Love is homesickness,” I once read in a book. The author’s therapist had told her that the pursuit of love in adulthood is just an expression of missing our mums and dads—that we look for intimacy and romance because we never stop wanting parental security and attention. We simply displace it.

“I’ve found everything really difficult recently. And I can’t work out if this is just a tricky period or whether this is what adulthood is now—disappointment and worry.” “What are you worried about?” “I’m worried I’m not going to live the life I always thought I’d have. I’m worried I have to come up with a new plan.” “There’s no point coming up with a plan,” he said, shaking his head sternly. “Life is what happens…”