Love is a Laserquest - Alex Turner/Arctic Monkeys Fan Fiction

2007

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm hauling backpack and suitcase up the front walk of Dad's house, skittering on the icy steps. Even though the Mannerly manager wasn't pleased, I decided to take my holiday over Christmas, so I'm getting out of London until after New Year's. I don't have the money for a fancy holiday anywhere, so I'll be spending the next week on Dad's couch, in my old bed, watching DVDs, sleeping, and avoiding the Daily Mail.

"Bills!"

Dad comes onto the front step and grabs my things, ushers me into the warmth of the lounge. I haven't been home since October– since Alex confirmed the Alexa rumors– and it's the longest I've gone without seeing Dad. But I haven't been able to get many days off to leave London, and I wasn't sure how to face him– knew he would see through me and we'd have to talk about Alex. And now, as he immediately hands me wine and sits me down to a Christmas Eve curry, I know why I've stayed away– Dad makes me vulnerable, and I already fear I might crumble.

I gulp at the red wine, tuck into the curry, all while avoiding Dad's eyes. He's talking about Mrs. Next Door, and work, and something that went wrong with the toilet upstairs, and I know he can see right through me as he talks away comfortably.

I think he's going to spare me by the time I reach the end of my first glass of wine though, but then he asks, "'ow's London then?"

"Fine."

"And the new job?"

I make a face, pour myself another glass, shrug.

"And Alex?"

I look up and meet his gaze.

It's not just the topic, it's the softness in Dad's crinkled eyes, the sympathy in them before I've even spoken. He knows, and he knows I'm hurting, and he's already there for me.

I shake my head, because the wine is making my eyes burn with tears much too quickly for my liking.

"'E's fine," I finally say.

"Lils."

The tears are falling from the tone of his voice– the same tone he used when I broke after he said Mum wasn't coming back, that we were moving to Sheffield– the tone he reserves for the moments he sees me as the vulnerable little girl that needs his protecting, when he knows he's the one for the job and needs to be strong, but it hurts him to see me like this and he can't help but let it show.

"Mrs. Turner told me about that Alexa Chung."

A single sob escapes my mouth before I can stop it, and I cover my face in my hands.

Since our conversation in October, I've done a pretty good job of avoiding Alex. He's been busy, I've been busy, and he's been too loved up to notice anything might be amiss. We grabbed dinner once in November, and have texted and emailed since, and he's told me about how things have been going with Alexa, and I've recovered enough to be the supportive best friend. I haven't met her yet, but he's said that he wants to plan a dinner.

And I'm not just saying that when I say that I've recovered. I haven't cried, or moaned, or been wallowing in the fact that Alex has this girlfriend that he's mad about. He seems over the moon, and I'm truly happy for him. I've done a bang up job of shoving my own feelings to the side, and being the adult– I've got loads of practice. It's just that, Dad has the ability to knock down any wall I put up without even trying. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't always going to be somewhat hurt– pretending to be okay– when seeing Alex with someone else.

"I'm fine," I finally manage to get out from behind my hands. "It's fine."

"Lily."

I move one hand and gulp from my wine, using the other to shield my wet eyes.

"I thought maybe you had moved on from this," Dad says softly, kindly.

I shake my head, because there's no use in pretending otherwise.

"Maybe it's time you did?"

I pull my hand away and look at him through my tears. "Dad, I love him– and I don't want to, it hurts too much! I don't know what to do."

Dad lets out a breath, before saying, "'ave you ever told 'im?"

I shake my head.

"Than of course 'e's going to 'ave other girlfriends, Bills."

"I know– I know."

Dad is quiet for a long moment, takes a sip of his own wine, before saying, "Did you know I was seeing someone else when I met your mum?"

This makes me freeze in place. Dad hardly ever brings up Mum– and when he does, it's to say that her sister has given us an update on her health or whereabouts, not to reminisce about when things were good.

He nods. "I was nearly engaged to a girl called Isabelle– from Manchester."

"What?" I had no idea.

"A right smart girl I met at school," he says. "Beautiful, curly ginger hair– these pale green eyes– a stunner."

I can't help but laugh, shocked.

"But I met your mum through work, and we became great mates," he says, looking into his wine for a moment. "We fit together in a way Isabelle and I didn't– and it took that friendship with your mum to realize that."

My stomach hurts suddenly– for my dad, for me, for the loss of my mum and how much she's still hurting us.

"So, you never know Lils," Dad says, trying to sound bright and cheery, but I can hear the pain behind his voice.

He misses Mum still.

"Dad," I begin, feeling nervous, but needing to ask. "Why did Mum leave?"

He looks up from his wine, surprised, pained, and he presses his lips together for a second before answering: "Your mum was– I think she 'ad a 'ard time being a wife and mother."

I swallow against the dryness in my throat.

"I wish I knew for sure," Dad says quietly, and I can see his eyes shining. "But I don't know, Lils."

She didn't want to be a wife or mum. I can see that. I can see her dissatisfaction from afar, from all those years ago, how she wanted more, how we bored her, tied her down. It's a simplistic picture, I'm sure, but she never gave me any other to work with. She never defended or explained herself, so it is what it is.

Seeing the pain on Dad's face, feeling my own– because of Mum, because of Alex– I put my hand out on the table for him. He takes it, and I give his fingers a squeeze, and smile through my tears. He smiles through his watery eyes as well, and for the first time in months I forget about Alex and the Mannerly and King's College, and I just feel bloody fucking grateful for Dad.