Telltale ~ Liam Gallagher

AUGUST 2001 - CONT (AGAIN, AGAIN)

I don't know why I assumed that everything would be better once we were in a different county. Like all the obstacles we've faced and are facing, would suddenly turn to dust. Our path completely clear. I suppose I was just naive. An economy ticket to Prague and a decent hotel room in the middle of a bustling street can't change or rewrite the past.

An old friend from school once said that, 'Nothing worth fighting for is easy. Except love. Love should be simple. It should be bliss, with no difficulties.' I mean, she did get charged for supplying cannabis to minors shortly after she gave me that insightful speech, so I'll take it with a pinch of salt, but the point stands. Shouldn't romance be easy? If it's challenging, maybe it just isn't meant to be? And this has been anything but a walk in the fucking park.

Am I really going to be that girl who falls for a man who has done nothing but make her feel completely worthless? Am I really that person? Sure, everyone makes mistakes and acts with immaturity, but still. I'm not some stubborn teenager who thinks going out with a fascist knobhead constitutes 'character building' anymore. I'm better than that, and since, haven't dated any fascists.

I prod at my face in the bathroom mirror. I look tired. Frumpy. Hormonal. I don't look happy. I thought coming here would make me feel revived, but I just feel bleak. All I want is for someone to respect me, and hold me, and protect me. And I'm not completely sure that that Liam can do all of those things. Maybe one, but not the other two. It's been fun. The flirting, the sex, the lust and desires, but no one is getting any younger. I'm too old for games.

"I'm off gorgeous." His cigarette-tainted voice bellows from the bedroom.

I flush the toilet, worried he might've thought I've been shitting all this time, and say, "Okay, I'll see you later."

I hear the door click close, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Ever since we got off the plane I have felt like I've been holding a load of vomit in my throat. Gross, but that's exactly what it has felt like to me. That if I opened my mouth and relaxed, I'd be sick everywhere. I don't feel happy at all.

Liam, like Liam does, hasn't noticed that anything is off. He's been loving the attention he has been getting over here. Lapping it up like a toddler who cries for attention. All the women at his arm, offering him handjobs and the like, not even noticing me hobbling along behind. I have felt like an accessory since I got here.

If he knew, he'd be mortified. He's a good bloke. He's emphatic. He doesn't want people to be sad or to make them feel shit. But I just can't face admitting to him how I really feel. I'm a coward I suppose.

He invited me to the gig, but it didn't seem crutches friendly. Instead we are going out for brunch in the morning, and he's taking me to see the sights of Prague. To Liam the sights will probably include a couple of brothels and an Irish pub, so I might have to take the lead. I just want to soak up the European atmosphere and feel like anyone but me for just one day.

The hotel room is cold. Even in August. I smother myself in the duvet and fumble for the TV remote, aimlessly searching for some British channels. Or even Irish ones. Right now, I couldn't care less. I watch as the time ticks on. He said he'd be back around ten thirty, and it's now coming up close to half eleven.

My first thought is that he's with one of those girls. Or multiple. Saying, "I've got to get back soon, my bird is waitin' for me." That is if he even considers me to be his 'bird'.

Or he might be snorting cocaine from a stripper's arse crack. That I wouldn't mind so much. But the fact I have to choose is a problem.

I switch off the TV and dust myself off ready for bed. I feel really grim; like I'm experiencing the menopause or a three-day hangover. Probably just post-flight grottiness. Midnight now.

The lights are off and the room is filled with the sounds of the street. Blokes on stag dos, arm in arm with the locals. Girls cackling in foreign languages. Teenagers underage drinking, smashing bottles on the pavement and shrieking with laughter. The sorts of sounds they might play a suspect of a crime as a torture device, trying to get them to cave in and confess.

Half past midnight and still no sign. I'm not sure if I even care that much. It's not like we are a couple. Or in love. We are just people who have flirted a bit and fucked. That's all that brings us together. I'm probably one in a hundred girls he has brought to this very hotel.

I give up waiting when the time reaches one in the morning. I'm too knackered to care. Hopefully he'll just be with the band having a drink and a spliff or two. I feel guilty that I have so little faith in him.

He crawled into bed around three. Stinking of booze and sweat. I gulp and stare out of the window. The blinds don't work in our room, and I'm not sure I mind. The view is so beautiful.

The view is so beautiful.