Becoming Jo

by Sophie MacKenzie

  “Oh, Jo,” he says. “My Jo. I’ve missed you so much.”

  And before I even know I’m going to move, I’m in his arms and bawling my eyes out.

  A little later and everything is settling down. Dad and Beth have both been packed off upstairs to rest and Mum and Meg are preparing some food for supper. I wander into the living room, where Aunt Em is sipping a glass of wine, and Amy is curled up on the sofa with her sketchbook.

  “Ah, Josephine,” Aunt Em says, putting down her glass. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  I sit down opposite her.

  “Beth is doing well and your parents are back now,” Aunt Em explains, “so … so I’ve decided to go ahead and book my holiday to Europe.”

  I look up. “That’s wonderful,” I say. At last some good news. A holiday is just what I need: something to look forward to and a way to get my mind off Lateef. Maybe once we’ve both had some time away from home there’ll be a way for us to build back our friendship again. “When do we leave, Aunt Em?”

  Silence. Aunt Em is staring at me, an expression of confusion on her face. Out of the corner of my eye I see Amy looking up from her phone.

  “Aunt Em?” I ask, suddenly uncertain.

  Aunt Em coughs. “Er, Josephine, the fact is that … well, I’ve decided that Amy will be the best companion. She’s young, but she’s very capable.”

  “Oh.” The blood pulses against my temples. Amy watches us.

  “I know you’ve run a number of errands for me over the past few months,” Aunt Em goes on, “but you have to admit there’ve been quite a few disasters: the stain on my silk cushion, the spilled tray at my cocktail party, that glass of water at Easter—”

  “It’s fine,” I lie, not wanting to hear more.

  “And Amy has a real feel for what I need,” Aunt Em says. “She’s got a great eye and she understands my wardrobe and how I like to keep things and … well, Josephine, let’s face it, you really have no interest in clothes or jewellery, do you?”

  I glance at Amy, who looks away, her cheeks scarlet. I turn back to Aunt Em, disappointment coursing through me.

  “You’re quite right, Aunt Em.” I glance at Amy who is still staring down at the floor, clearly mortified. In spite of my disappointment, my heart goes out to her. This isn’t her fault. “Amy is the better choice,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and cheerful. “It makes sense to take her. It’s totally fine.”

  Amy looks up at me and I nod to emphasize what I’ve just said, pressing my lips firmly together so that she doesn’t see how upset I am. I make an excuse and head upstairs, tears trickling down my face for the second time in two hours.

  I lie on my bed, feeling utterly humiliated as I imagine the summer ahead: Lateef won’t be here. Our friendship is destroyed anyway. Amy will be off in Europe. Meg will be looking after the little Gardiner boys and reading up on college courses. The next five weeks stretch ahead of me, dull and boring. For the first time I wonder if maybe I should have been more open to the idea of going out with Lateef. Perhaps if I love him as much as I do as a friend, I could fall in love with him too?

  I sit up and lean back against the pillows. No, I’ll be fine here, getting on with my writing and spending time with Beth – and with Mum and Dad.

  A tear trickles down my face.

  “Jo?” It’s Mum in the doorway, her forehead creased with a frown.

  She sits beside me and wipes the tear from my cheek. “I’m so sorry about the holiday with Aunt Em – I know you were hoping she’d take you with her. Amy’s worried that you’re upset.” She gives me a rueful smile. “Which you clearly are. In fact I think Amy’s anxious that you might be angry with her, but this really isn’t her—”

  “I’m not angry with Amy,” I interrupt, swallowing down a sob. “Not at all. I totally get it. Amy is a better choice than me. Plus she deserves it – she’s worked really hard looking after Aunt Em. I always complain. And Amy actually enjoys all that stuff Aunt Em’s into.” I draw in a breath, big and shaky.

  “So you’re not crying about the trip?”

  “Not really,” I say, looking straight at Mum as the truth lands like a stone in my guts. “It’s … it’s Lateef.”

  Mum takes my hand. “Oh, Jo. You two had a row?”

  I shake my head. “Much worse than that.” I stare at my lap, unsure how to tell her. “He – he says he loves me, is in love with me.” My lips tremble. “He’s mad. Or I am. I don’t know. I just know that I’ve lost my best friend.”

  Mum studies my face. “Oh, my darling. I did wonder about his feelings.”

  “Did you? Amy said something once too.” I make a face. “I didn’t. I thought we were fine being friends. Oh, Mum, do you think I should try and go out with him? It would be better than not seeing him at all.”

  Mum gives me a sad smile. “I don’t think you can force yourself to love anyone. That sells both of you short.” She hesitates. “May I be honest with you?”

  I nod.

  “All right.” She pats my hand. “I like Lateef very much, and I think you are wonderful friends. But I don’t think you two are really suited, not as romantic partners anyway. You’re just so alike … too alike: impulsive and … well, both of you can be extremely hot-headed.”

  “But—”

  “You’re friends,” Mum says firmly. “Great friends. And when you get to my age you’ll realize just how rare and precious true friendship is.” She smiles again. “I’m sure when Lateef’s had time to think everything through he’ll realize for himself what good friends you are and how he doesn’t want to lose that.”

  “Really?” I ask. Mum nods and, for the first time in days, I let myself feel hopeful.

  “Now come on,” Mum says. “I want your help in the kitchen. Tonight we’re going to have a special meal to celebrate Beth being well and Dad being home.”

  “OK,” I say.

  Mum sighs. “Remember that it’s the sad times that help you appreciate when things are good.”

  I smile. “Next you’ll be telling me that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  “Also true.” Mum laughs. “But as a family we have plenty to be grateful for.”

  I follow her downstairs. Mum’s right, of course. But no matter how much I tell myself to be thankful for what I have, the prospect of a whole summer without my best friend at my side sends my heart plummeting into my shoes.

  Part Four

  Autumn

  Chapter 1

  It’s the first week of September, the new school year is about to start and everyone except me seems to be getting on with their lives.

  It’s been hard getting through the past few weeks without Lateef, though the fact he is abroad makes it a little easier. At least there’s no risk of bumping into him on Fishtail Lane or at the few social gatherings I’ve been invited to.

  I’m still trying to write and getting nowhere. With each idea I’ve completed a few paragraphs … then lost interest. For a start I can’t find anyone interesting to write about. Certainly nobody as cool as Tallulah Templeton. I miss her and her wild adventures. Marianne’s idea of more grown-up fiction that “teens could feel might really happen to them” seems to me more like a way of confining people my age, putting them in a box and allowing them to play there, but not to risk going out into the world. It’s patronizing.

  Worse, it’s dull.

  So here I am, sitting at the kitchen table in front of my computer while the sun streams on to the back garden where Mum and Beth are pottering about, pointing at flowers and Beth’s little vegetable patch. She sees me watching and gives me a cheerful wave. She tells us that she’s feeling better each day. To my mind she still looks very pale and seems to get tired far too easily. I know Mum and Dad are anxious about her too. At least they’re not worrying about money so much any more: Mum has just started working in the HR department of a local company. It’s only part time, but better paid than her old full-time job – and, best of all, Mu
m’s really enjoying it.

  I give up on my story and fetch myself a glass of water. It’s times like these when I really wish I could call or see Lateef. I haven’t heard from him directly since he declared his love over a month ago – though he’s posting on social media several times a day from the amazing places he’s visiting on holiday.

  I wander into the living room where Meg is lying on the sofa, studying her phone intently.

  “I’m bored,” I say.

  “Uh-huh.” Meg clearly isn’t listening.

  “The kitchen’s on fire,” I say, to test her out.

  “Uh-huh.” A short pause, then Meg looks up at me, squinting a frown. “What?”

  “Forget it,” I say with a sigh, sinking on to the arm of the nearest chair. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” she says.

  “Are you looking at nanny jobs?” I ask. Meg hasn’t talked to me about her plans to work in childcare since the day Mum and Dad came home weeks ago. She’s spoken to them though; I’ve seen them huddled together, serious expressions on their faces.

  “No.”

  “University courses?” I persist. “Because there’s still months and months before you’d have to apply to Nanny University or wherever.”

  Meg casts an irritated sideways glance at me. “Go away,” she says.

  Rolling my eyes, I head upstairs.

  I flop on to my bed and tug on my headphones. While I listen to music, I scroll through Amy’s Facebook posts. These are carefully put together for Mum and Dad’s benefit:

  Got to Rome yesterday. There is lots of traffic and it is very hot. Today we went to a famous fountain.

  In Florence where there’s a big cathedral and some of the streets smell bad. My hotel room has a balcony.

  And my personal favourite, from the start of her holiday:

  Paris is hot. There is a big river and the Eyeful Tower. I saw a cat with three legs and lots of tourists.

  Smiling to myself, I open up Amy’s Instagram and Snapchat posts, which is where her more authentic experiences are to be found. Today she’s put up a picture of a row of brightly coloured bicycles on the banks of a river, the water reflecting as dancing light on their spokes. She doesn’t say where the picture is taken, just a couple of hashtags: #pretty and #bicycles. She’s already had over a-hundred-and-seventy likes. I sigh. It does look amazing. I have to hope that my time to travel the world will come one day, even if I haven’t yet figured out how to make it happen.

  A light knock on the door, just audible over the music pumping through my headphones. I look up as it opens.

  I gasp. Lateef is standing there, his hair cut very short. My stomach lurches with the shock of seeing him. I sit up quickly and tug off my headphones.

  “Hey, Jo March. What’s up?” He grins.

  “You’re back.” I study his face, my heart pounding. Why is he here? To confess his feelings all over again? No, surely not: he’s leaning against the doorframe, completely relaxed, and the expression in his eyes reveals nothing more complicated than pleasure at seeing me. There’s no trace of the unhappy boy who said he was in love with me all those weeks ago.

  “Yes, I’m back. Well spotted,” he says with a grin. He saunters across the room and sits opposite me, on Meg’s bed. “Got home a couple of hours ago actually. Had a great time, but…” He hesitates. “But before I tell you about that I need to say something else.”

  I gulp. He is going to talk about his feelings. Oh, no. I don’t want to hear another declaration of love. I can’t bear the idea of rejecting him again – of hurting my best friend.

  “What’s that?” I say lightly. “How you lazed your way around Europe?”

  “No.” Lateef hesitates again. A shadow passes over his expressive face. I brace myself for whatever is coming next. “It’s two things really. First, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I missed your crazy messages.”

  “Yeah,” I say, with feeling. Meaning “me too”, though not wanting quite to actually acknowledge that I’ve missed him at all. “I didn’t expect you to be in touch after…” I trail off. The words “after the way you left” hang in the air between us.

  Lateef nods. “I was upset,” he says.

  I look down. This is it. He’s about to tell me he loves me again.

  “Hey, get over yourself, Jo March.” He laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not upset any more.”

  “Oh,” I say, filled with surprise – and relief. “Er … good.”

  “Yeah, so … though I hate to admit you were right, I’ve realized that you were.” He wrinkles his nose. “You and me – we’re better off as friends. So much better off in fact.”

  I stare at him. “Really?” I ask eventually.

  “Totally,” he says. “I think a part of me knew it from the start, but I was such a mess when I left… Anyway, gradually things started to change. And meeting up with Amy helped too.”

  “Amy?” I raise my eyebrows, a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. “She never mentioned she saw you. When was this?”

  “I asked her not to,” Lateef admits. “You know, she’s a smart kid. We met up when we were both in Rome a couple of weeks back. She guessed how I felt about…” He looks away. “Whatever, she’s cleverer than you think.”

  I nod, thinking back to the morning after Lateef and I had our fight over the Manning Plains tickets, when Amy told me Lateef liked me.

  “So what did she say?” I ask, curious in spite of myself.

  “I dunno, just stuff about how smart you are, how important writing is to you… She said how she admires that you know what you want and you’re really focused on achieving it.”

  My jaw drops. “Amy said that?” It’s hard to imagine her saying anything so positive about me. “She’d never say that to my face.”

  “Maybe not,” Lateef acknowledges. “But she still looks up to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, we talked about you and how amazing you are, and afterwards I realized that you are – you’re great – but that you and I wouldn’t be great together. I’ll never be able to understand how you feel about writing.” He leans forward. “But I know that one day you’ll make it as a writer, Jo, and I’d like to be there, cheering you on.” He grins. “You’re the first person I want as a friend, and the last person I’d want for a girlfriend.”

  “Thanks, Lateef.” I laugh, mostly with relief, though there’s also a sadness in there too – not about me and Lateef, just a sense that life won’t ever be quite the same again…

  Lateef laughs too. “You’re my best friend, Jo, like my sister, like how you said I was your brother. At least you were my best friend before the summer.” He spreads his arms and leans forward and the sunlight through the window glints off his sleek, dark hair. “Can we go back to that?”

  I study him. We can’t go back. I know that. I’ll always remember how he felt about me and it will always change our friendship. But maybe that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe getting the romance question out of the way now means that we’ll be able to be even better friends in the future.

  Whatever, the truth is that I’ve missed him and the summer’s been worse for not having him around and now that a new school year is about to start, maybe it’s exactly the right time for us to make up and move forward.

  Our eyes meet. “I’ve missed you too,” I say gruffly. “And even if it has taken you weeks I guess you got there in the end so, yeah, if it means so much to you, I suppose we can be friends.”

  We are both smiling now, grinning like idiots.

  “Best friends the sequel,” I say with a chuckle. “Here we come.”

  Chapter 2

  Lateef and I go downstairs together and within minutes it’s like he’s never been away. Amy still isn’t home, of course. She’s not due back for another few days. But Meg and Beth make a big fuss of him and when I introduce him to Dad, who’s taken over Mum’s vegetable gardening as a way of building up his strength, Lateef really turns
on the charm.

  “It’s so great to meet you, Mr March,” he says, his eyes merry and his grin huge. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “And I you,” Dad says, straightening up from his tomato plants to shake hands. “Nice to have another bloke about the place.”

  “Glad to hear you’re making a good recovery. When are you going back to work?” Lateef asks.

  I give a tiny gasp under my breath as the sun emerges from one cloud and disappears swiftly behind another. None of us have asked this question since Dad got home. I don’t think any of us could bear to. Now I feel a gust of chilly air creep up my spine.

  Dad hesitates, then turns to me. “Actually, I was just discussing this with your mum, Jo.” He pauses. “I’m not going back. At least, I’m not going abroad again.”

  “Really?” I dart forward and envelope him in a gigantic hug. He feels so frail still, far thinner than I remember from when he went away last year.

  “Really.” Dad pats my back. “I was going to tell everyone when Amy got home, but it’s not a secret.”

  I pull back and look at him. “What will you do instead?” I ask.

  He grins. “I’ll be kept busy, don’t worry. I’m going to carry on recuperating for the rest of this year then start looking for a permanent job in January. There’s a lot of work for a consultant with knowledge of the Middle East in the charity sector.”

  I nod, my eyes prickling with emotion. I glance at Lateef, who smiles.

  “That’s great news,” he says quietly, and I nod. It is. It really, really is.

  Later, while Mum and Dad potter in the garden, we all sit slumped in the sitting room, digesting the good news. “I wonder where Dad will end up working?” Beth muses from her perch on the living-room sofa.

  “I wonder that about all of us,” I add. “Where will we end up? The world is so big. And I want to see every last bit of it.”

  Meg laughs. “Me too. Some of it, at least.”

  “I’d be happy staying right here,” Beth says quietly.

  “Hey.” Lateef sits up straight. He’s in the big armchair opposite me and Beth, Meg lounging on the floor in front of the TV. “Let’s say what we all want when we’re older. Like, proper dreams and ambitions and … and nobody’s allowed to laugh at anybody else’s.” He looks around at each of us, his expression equal parts amused and challenging.