The truth is in his eyes

The truth is in his eyes

Are you guilty of over-analysing text messages? Have you ever wondered how the object of your affection feels about you? Then I have a solution for you. The truth is in his (her) eyes. If they are attracted to you, usually their pupils dilate even when they are not in a dark room. That’s what I know from experience, and scientists have a more academic name for it called pupillometry. Try it next time. Cuts out all the crap. But what use are dilated pupils, even if you love each other and look like an ideal couple from the outside world, if you can’t build a future together?

‘I’m at the Playboy Club with my friend,’ said my mother matter of factly over the phone when I called. This was six months or so ago.

‘What? Playboy Club? What are YOU doing at the Playboy Club? Even I have not been there?’

‘I got invited. Oh, I must dash. Bit busy right now. Bye.’ Then she hung up.

Great, your own mother has a better social life than you do. Your mother. Cooler than you? Maybe? Good for her, but here I am, looking frumpy in contrast, with unwashed hair that I put up in a bun, walking like a zombie from Resident Evil, despite the flat ballet pumps on the way back home from my normal job in a bank. Ugh, so unglam. I even had a big spot on my chin, and my tights had a ladder because it got caught on the Velcro of someone’s backpack on the public transport that morning. One of those ‘off’ days. I was definitely not prepared for what was about to unfold over the following few months. I was caught off guard, and the strong current called ‘life’ took me further off-shore, where I could have drowned. Sucked deep into the dark sea where the sun doesn’t shine and many ships have sunk, lured by the charm of the Sirens, the beautiful mythical creatures. That is, if I didn’t decide to abandon the sinking ship, with one crewman named Billy still on board, and decided to swim back to the shore all by myself.   

‘Oh my god, you guys look so cute together! The perfect couple!’ exclaimed a random stranger who saw us at the party.

The party in question was held at Le Meridien Piccadilly. Just off the statue of Eros, and not far from Fortnum and Mason and the Ritz. This hotel has been there for years. In fact, this was where I had my high school prom when the Waldorf was closed for renovation. From the outside, the old-fashioned imposing building has not changed in the nearly twenty-five years since I was last there, but the inside has somehow become diluted with a touch of the Novotel business hotel atmosphere. What’s with those geometric carpets? In London, many buildings have history and stories, and it’s just the perishables like the furniture and human beings that age and change. Straight after work, so I am wearing my formal grey (nipped in at the waist) jacket with a fitted caramel dress. A sprinkle of the latest from Guerlain that somehow manages to mix the classic with the modern. As I walked up the stairs earlier, I could hear the buzz from the ballroom further up. I reimagined the prom scene from many years ago, fondly up to the point where I remembered my super drunk friend Mimi peed at the side of the corridor, and whatever fond memory I had up until then had to be erased quickly so as to forget about the subsequent details.

The evening was a bit chaotic, but when they turned down the lights for the plump jazz singer to fill the room with her velvety yet far reaching voice, the buzz of the party was starting to mellow. Near the door, I see the back of the main speaker of the evening Max Goldwin, a prominent politician from a wealthy family, who is gangly tall and rumoured to have a limp handshake, but more than makes up for it by having that handsome face, and other guests seeing this as a cue to go home, following close behind him. Before he left, he came over to say goodbye to Billy, who invited me to come to this party. Everyone knew Billy. For most of the evening, I’ve been trapped under his wing, holding me so close to him, proudly wrapping his arms tightly around my waist when not around my shoulder. I took this change in the tempo of the music as a chance to extricate myself and breathe a little. Billy basically is a well-dressed, eccentric, British blond version of the German model, Johanne Huebl, with a cuter face. You know, tall, not bulky, with a strong nose, piercing blue eyes, and such bouncy ‘I’m worth it’ hair. Random strangers would come up to me when he left my side briefly to work the floor charming everyone, to tell me how cute we are together, that we make such a perfect couple. I was confused, what do you mean by perfect couple? He’s the good looking one who knows everyone, though to be fair to me, I scrubbed up well tonight. I always feel like a misfit in a big crowd. And many of his female friends who saw us together earlier totally blanked me, purposely excluding me from the conversation. Er…does this mean those girls are jealous? Give me a break. It does not matter how they look, it is charmless and mean, and shows that they are ugly on the inside. The thing is, we are NOT a couple. We are in fact, childhood friends who grew up together and are just comfortable and affectionate with each other. I even told him earlier that evening that I will love him as a human being until the day I die, while I was swigging water directly from the bottle in an unladylike manner (well, the hotel ran out of clean glasses). I’m not exactly trying to sleep with him or charm him, acting like the awkward tomboy that I am. But then, when the music slowed, and I broke free from under his arm, he didn’t want to let go and took my hand. When I turned back to look him face to face for the first time properly that evening… his eyes told me everything. His gaze. The same look he gave when we reconnected a couple of months ago. The first time, I did a double take, and thought it was because the room was dark, but tonight I knew for sure. He liked me more than just as a friend. It was not my imagination this time. His pupils were fully dilated when other people’s pupils were normal as he smiled at me as if to check if I liked him back. Shit. He is beautiful, and of course I love him, but do I love him like that? He is like my brother. So confusing! And as we left the party, it was cold outside so we were huddled together for some moments, with him burying his face into my hair, and my arms wrapped around his waist. He is so tall now, not a little boy anymore. 

‘I really like how you smell. You smell nice.’

Then he tried to hold my hand as we waited for an Uber outside, but I pretended to continue walking so the hand unclasped naturally. Not because I don’t care, but because I care, I didn’t want to ruin what we had unless it was a natural development. We have so much history. If you are a man reading this, please don’t get angry with girls if they don’t rush into a relationship. It might just mean she cares about you enough to start with building a friendship first. Please don’t try to manipulate us to get what you want. Ultimately, it is the heart and kind action that counts in the long run.

<Press Stop>

<Rewind>

<All the way back to just after I found out my mother went to the Playboy Club>

When I popped over to my mother’s in the countryside, I asked her how the evening at the Playboy Club went. She mentioned that it was basically just a bar, but she enjoyed trying out a new place, and that she met her friend (technically my aunt through marriage)’s good looking friend called William who was the host for that evening. Apparently, he had been on a reality TV show called Pig Mother some years ago, where contestants chosen from the general public are put in a farm together, to be voted in or out by the viewers. The name and the description kind of somehow sounded familiar. I asked her, do you know if his full name is William Campbell. She was like, what? What do you mean?

‘You mean William Campbell? THAT William Campbell? You mean Billy we know, the Campbell family’s little Billy? What?’

I had heard from my old school friends Mimi (yes, that Mimi of the corridor) and Monoe (no, it’s not her real name but she worships Marilyn Monroe) that our mutual friend’s younger brother had been on TV, but never even bothered to look him up, considering I don’t even watch TV other than the occasional boxset binge on Game of Thrones or the likes. He is now very tall, with beautiful blue eyes he inherited from his Swiss mother, smartly dressed, looking up at us in the Princess Diana angle from Tatler Magazine’s social page. The only thing by which my mother could have identified him as Billy is the same hedgehog hair that defies gravity, that grows vertically. Regarding his looks, I probably am biased, because if you are a family, you are always going to think your brother is better than other people, right? The same sentiment as I have known him since he was 5 years old, and I practically spent most of after school time with the Campbell family, though we lost touch after graduating and the breakdown of both of our families. Turns out he has known my mother’s best friend for many years, as well as other friends I socialise with. Small world. And friends and colleagues who know him or saw us together were like, ‘Aww you guys are so cute together. Perfect couple. Please date each other. I want you guys to have beautiful babies.’ I am flattered, but we are NOT a couple. What’s wrong with people?? When I heard his father had passed away recently, I wanted to focus on being there for him, I wanted to be the best friend I can be without any further intention. He had a different intention, and kept on dropping sexual innuendos as if to trap me, like how he always wanted me to take advantage of him sexually, or wanted to kiss me all over (without the conversation warranting such comments). I just ignored them. I mean what do you reply to your brother saying that without hurting his feelings? I wanted to do what is ultimately best for him, and not about what I will gain from it, and if it is meant to happen, you don’t need to rush it. I had no interest in being a yes woman that he may be used to, to enable his lifestyle. I wanted to encourage him to grow. But maybe some people don’t want to hear the truth.

‘Billy, since your father was diagnosed with cancer, then the funeral and then sorting out his house, you hardly spent any time on yourself. You have been a great son to both your father and to your mother, but you have spent all your time for other people. I am worried about your health because you are partying all the time and not eating properly.’

His immediate snappy reaction was ‘Don’t tell me what to do. I will party as much as I like. I party every night, making everybody there happy. I need this distraction, and why are you interfering when you have not even been in my life for the past twenty years. You can’t suddenly reappear in my life to tell me what to do. Besides, you are just someone I might take to some parties, and that’s all you are.’ Meanie! But I also know that he knows I had a point, and he was hurt, so he is now trying to hurt me. I didn’t want to react to such a petty comment, because that is not the point. The point was I loved and cared about him, and I was not even expecting anything in return. This was not meant as a criticism.

‘It is all very well partying, but I want to see you build your future. Now that things are settling down, what about doing something for yourself? Like exercise. Be healthy. I’ll come exercise with you. Do something new, something other than partying, like set up a public speaking coaching business, which I know you would be excellent at (you know, I used to work for PR agency which coached David Cameron before he took office), or do Instagram where you can build your own brand. You’d be really good at things like that.’

‘Yes, I am good with people.’ His voice softened. ‘So maybe I can take some rich Jewish ladies shopping.’ Oh no, you are not a gigolo, you are supposed to be an intelligent, cultured great human being, to make your father proud. I feel like I opened a can of worms. I don’t want to see him scavenge off other people’s money or kindness.

‘No, Billy, taking a couple of rich ladies shopping is a one-off dead end job. Besides, you are not in fashion, unless you want to be a personal shopper. I’m not against you charming people, but you need something that will capture a wider audience and generate regular cash flow, set up as a proper business. Or, if you want to stay in show-business, you need to change your agent, get healthy and exercise, aim to be on the cover of a magazine again. Think about what you want in your life, and we can come up with a strategy to achieve whatever you want.’

He protested like a whiny teenage boy talking to his mother, not as an equal, exchanging ideas. ‘I will NEVER exercise, you can never force me to do that. I can get away with not exercising because I am tall, and luckily I have a good face. You don’t even know what I have been through, and you are trying to psychoanalyse me, telling me this and that, but what about yourself? Are you even happy? There is no point telling you anything because you are not understanding like your aunt.’ Yes, he is tall, but he is in his mid-thirties now, he can’t get away much longer without looking after himself. My aunt told me she just likes being taken to parties, and that his life is not her business, so of course she will not say anything. Yes, I know he’s been linked to all the glamorous as well as the less desirable sides of high society. It’s not me, but people come up to me asking about what they read about him online or in the tabloid news. I only believe what I have seen with my eyes, and how the person is to me, not the gossip. I didn’t tell him that.

‘Look, I am not my aunt. I am Peach. I am not trying to change you, but I just think your talent is wasted. No point fighting. I’d rather talk to you in person, not over the phone. I should go. It is during my work hour on the busiest day of the quarter.’

‘Oh, you are working? I am sorry I called. Oh god. I love you, I love you, I love you, please don’t get mad at me. You mustn’t get mad at me as I am still going through the grieving period. I love you, love you.’

‘…..er…right, love you too, bye.’

If my intention was to make him fancy me, and manipulate him, I am probably doing everything wrong. He just gets defensive, rather than listen first before deciding if it is a valid point. I waited until many months after his father’s passing to even bring these topics up. Instead, his focus is constantly on protecting himself and his ego. It made me sad to imagine the type of people he surrounds himself with to warrant this kind of behaviour. Maybe nobody ever told him the truth. Maybe they just use him. Maybe they just love him in a selfish way. And his health. He is not eating properly, and it’s starting to show on his face and body. And he probably has major vitamin D deficiency from lack of sunlight by living the nightlife, never seeing the sunlight, as he told me he is constantly tired and other health issues; symptoms of lack of sunlight. What is he, a vampire? And what am I? Totally annoying, interfering bitch?

I apologised to him after our argument, and I stopped saying much afterwards. Because it is not right to force what you think is right for them. It’s got to be what they want for themselves. Yet I have been sensing Billy’s future for some time. That probably is why I didn’t want what I saw happen to him, and maybe I shouldn’t have cared. Have you read Oscar Wilde’s Portrait of Dorian Gray? The same! Billy’s beautiful face was slowly turning into the face of a sad old monster, right in front of my eyes. He has lost his way and let other lonely, lowly monsters use him and eat away his youth, beauty and soul while he is sat at his fake throne. He did not have to insist on sitting on that fake throne, no matter how grand it looks. He needs to get his own chair, even if it means Ikea, but it is real, bought with his own money, and truly belongs to him. I didn’t know what else I could do. Am I being stupid to care? Ok, last ditch effort. No more talking. I’m going to give him multivitamins, and at least he can party well even if he continues to eat junk food and not get sunshine.

Anyway, in the end, I saw him at his flat. With me and a bottle of multivitamins in a Christmas Santa’s sack filled with mince pies and the likes. I just thought, fuck pretence, I’ll just do what I believe in, and do the best for him, and if I fail, that’s fine too because I have at least tried.

So he loved the multivitamins. And I guess that lead to a kiss. On the lips. But I freaked out. ‘Oh no, you are like my brother, we shouldn’t be doing that.’ Although we both find each other attractive, like it is ingrained deep within our body, and what was once an innocent display of affection as kids translates as somewhat sexual now as adults, yet without spending proper time together or him gaining my respect, he’s always going to be just my brother. Awkward…

‘Hey Billy, maybe I should go.’ I shifted from the sofa to get up.

‘…no, please don’t go.’ He clasped my hand and held it to his chest. ‘Please stay. I want you to stay. Will you hold me close to you? I want us to talk about the time when we were younger.’ Puppy eyes. Oh man, I can’t leave him like this.

We just settled on the sofa with me hugging him. It feels natural just cuddling, as if he is my old comfortable cushion, like when we used to watch TV together as kids. ‘Why do you push away people who care about you?’

‘…you know full well that everything that I ever loved was taken away from me. Everything. My life. My family. My school. Everything I believed in and loved. And I get scared of being attached to anything.’ I am aware of what happened to him when we were younger. It’s one of the reasons we both lost touch many years ago. I kept quiet, but you can’t change the past. Only thing we can do is to change your outlook and build the life you want, not dwell on the past. We both had childhood traumas in the family, especially when both of our parents divorced. I had an alcoholic father, but that is not an excuse to blame others, and not make the most of the cards I am dealt with. I think everybody’s family is dysfunctional to some degree, mine was for sure, but we can build the family that is free from the sadness we experienced as kids. Build a happy family. He is old enough to be a father himself, it is a bit childish to be complaining and blaming your unhappiness on your childhood. I remained silent, and continued to stroke his hair.

Oh, and it turns out he also plays the eye game. So, he probably knew how I felt all along. Maybe more so than I knew myself. Damn.

We just chatted all night about random things, and caught up. That probably is what I wanted all along, not someone trying to manipulate me into falling in love with him. Then the conversation turned to relationships.

‘Peach, the problem with you and I is that we have too many options. Too many people want to date us. We can’t commit to anyone.’ Huh? That is a random statement? If anything, I believe in true love with just one person, and what we have was never presented as a relationship, why is he making a big statement? I bloody know he wants to be loved by one special person and to love her in return more than anyone. That is why he is giving his love willy nilly to anyone and everyone in his desperate bid to be loved, and that is the exact reason he is loved by many, but in real life he is alone and extremely lonely. Like Marilyn Monroe. I want him to find happiness. It doesn’t have to be with me. He is again protecting himself before anything has even happened.

Maybe to get a reaction, he texts a girl to come over in front of me, and frankly who the hell comes over at 2am? A very desperate person. I am aware he can command the attention and adoration of many people, but I think he is short selling himself. Time for me to leave before the tone of the evening lowers.

‘Will you come back?’ No I won’t Billy.

Time to say goodbye. I need to save myself, as I know I am not strong enough to take on the whole drama he is creating. I know which way the sinking ship is heading. My heart was torn in half to leave him onboard. I love him. But I had to leave him to make his own decisions. His life. His choice. His eyes told me he cared about me, and that is exactly why he is scared, and doing stupid things. He is embarrassed. If he is too scared of me before anything has even started, then he should choose people who are easy and will not scare him. And I knew he knew I cared about him too. But we both knew we can’t be together.

‘I love you’ his lips said, not making any sound as he held me tight. I tried to reach up to kiss his forehead goodbye.

‘I love you too,’ I whispered back. Then he quickly kissed my lips before they reached his forehead. That was the last time we saw each other.

<Press Stop>

<Rewind>

<Aaaallllll the way back to when we were both kids>

Do you remember your dad’s study? The late afternoon ray of sun is cutting through the study in half, and you can make out the part of the room he used more often in the light, from the faint dust collecting on the other side of the study. And you were on his green swivel chair, listening to his jazz collection. He is no longer with us, and we can never go back in time, but you are always cherished in my heart.

<Press Stop>

<Fast forward to now>

Why is life so complicated? I broke out in shingles after this. I’m not as strong as I thought. I really wanted to help him, but I couldn’t. Nobody wants to feel like they need saving. Though things didn’t have a happy ending, I was surprised to find that the part of my heart that stopped feeling anything for many years is slowly able to care and love other people. I don’t want to live my life scared of love. I’m not going to let my past shape my future. I am going to take a chance. Hope you do too, instead of only being worried about being hurt. Changing the present will change the course of your future. Some people are worth taking the risk of getting hurt. Love, you can burn me. I’ll make some toasted marshmallows. Bring it on. ;)

More about things people find hard to talk to anyone about, especially when it happens to people you love, like mental illness, alcoholism and domestic abuse. Have you tried to save the person you love and you couldn’t? I want us not to be scared of being judged or worry about social stigma. These things happen to many people, but are often swept under the carpet as if they don’t exist. We should be able to talk about it. Help each other find a solution. The concept of heaven and hell are not what exists above and below us after we die. They both exist right now, right here, with you. There is no such thing as a perfect couple, or a perfect life. Our lives are all imperfect - a chaotic mixture of everything, but I think that is what makes it beautiful.

Chat later!

Love,

Asako xxx

*Note: Some names and information have been changed under my artistic license and to protect individual confidentiality. Cover portrait is of Henry Brougham at National Portrait Gallery.