Hey, Amanda! I was thinking about you and wondered if you were on here and look, here you are.
Jess paused. What if Amanda didn’t want to hear from her? She couldn’t remember who was supposed to call who next, as they left each other at the garden centre car park. Had they both known it would be the last time or had Amanda waited for her to call? And, if so, why hadn’t she reached out? Maybe Jess had been right all along, maybe Amanda did judge her. Maybe Amanda’s life was now a million miles away from the four girls. What if this would just be ignored, an embarrassing reach out from someone desperate… Lolly’s giddy face came to mind, the feel of the kind of squeeze hug only Lolly was able to give. And Emily, how vulnerable she used to be, how protective Jess had always felt over her, and Amanda, how strong she was, how much Jess had needed her when they were kids, how much they’d needed each other.
So Lolly has been in touch, she bumped into Emily. They’d like us all to meet up for coffee and I know it’s been forever, but I’d love to know how you are, what you’re up to! Hope you get this message… x
Amanda
What are you up to…
That’s just one of the many reasons Amanda had avoided reigniting friendships with people from back in the day. Life moved on, she had enough people in her world, those she cared for, those who looked out for her. The last time she saw Jess it had been awful. Amanda was exhausted from life with a small child and felt cut off from everyone she knew. She was also embarrassed about the state of her marriage with Pete because everyone had told her it wouldn’t work and, much as she’d tried to hide it and make out that she was winning at life, she had often wondered if that really came across. She had said something about how she’d get in touch soon, that maybe they’d go out for coffee or something but she’d known, as she’d walked back to the bus stop that day, that she’d not be making contact with Jess or any of the girls. Life had changed. She had changed. It hurt to see them be the girls they’d always been, exploring all that life had to offer when she was exploring nothing more than dirty nappies and an empty bed. Did she want to open up that can of pain again, the loss of losing friends who she had adored? And did she have the energy to cover up the life she led now? Would they judge if she shared all? Would they understand how it came about? The photos and videos back in the early days when she was a single mum with bills to pay. She wanted to keep their house. It was Zennor’s home. She had to survive, even if initially she’d felt as though she’d left her dignity at the spare room door. She never did it when Zennor was in the house.
I’d love to know how you are.
Would she? Would she really? Or would they all ask the question about what she did for a living, because people never asked interesting questions? Nobody wanted to know what great thing you did today, or what made you laugh, or sad, what made you think differently about something. No, it was all what do you do and where do you live? And whatever your answer, you’d be ranked by social importance. You’d be defined by it. The thing was, Amanda loved her job, she really loved it: the money, the freedom, the hours, she loved the sex, she had always loved sex, but her job didn’t define her. It was not all that she was. It wasn’t her sum total. People didn’t get that. Not just about escorts, about anything. Doctors, teachers, stay at home mothers, lawyers, shop assistants, cleaners – that was it, that’s all they were. They were interesting or not, based wholly on their CV. Would Jess, Lolly and Emily judge in the same way?
Or could they get back to where they were, the four of them, inseparable? Determined. There for one another. Amanda’s guiding lights. The reason she survived when her parents split up. The reason she just about made it through her GCSEs. The reason she waited to lose her virginity with someone who gave a shit as opposed to some seventeen-year-old she met at a party when they were all no more than sixteen. They had been everything to Amanda.
I know it’s been forever.
It has. Forever. Years. A lifetime ago. Things had moved on. People change. For any brief, romantic notion Amanda might have about reconnecting with girls she once loved back when she was a kid, there was nothing to say they’d get on now, just ’cause they did once upon a time. More likely, they’d realise why they’d drifted apart.
And yet, so often, she’d wondered herself: about how they all were. How America was for Emily, how nursing was for Lolly, how Manchester had been for Jess… how life had been for Jess, she’d changed, long before they parted ways. Something had shifted, before she went travelling even, Amanda remembered. Emily left, which devastated them all, and something in Jess appeared to fracture.
Amanda stared at the message, nostalgia flicking her heart. She had friends, plenty, good ones, but none that knew her from back then. None that understood her past. There was something comforting about the idea of people who’d seen you evolve from child to young adult. And they’d had a laugh, back then. She couldn’t remember belly laughing with anyone the way she had with those girls, back in the day.
She flicked the kettle on, yawning. It was her first day off in months and she had planned to spend it lounging around in her pyjamas watching Jeremy Kyle and reading, not second-guessing a social situation. Jess said that they wanted to go to The Old Grammar School on Sunday. Amanda had hoped Zennor would change her mind about lunch on Sunday. She’d called a few times, and texted. She left a message on one occasion but had no idea if she’d listened to it. She’d read the messages, Amanda could tell. Yet still she ignored her. Amanda hated not knowing what she was doing. She hated the ice between them and now the silence. It was too much. Zennor might legally be a grown-up, but she’d never stop being Amanda’s baby. It had been the two of them against the world for so long, they were each other’s everything and this fracture in their relationship tore Amanda apart.
And suddenly, the only people Amanda wanted to share that pain with was Emily, Lolly and Jess.
Emily
Emily braced herself by the worktop. If she was going to overcome the nausea, she probably needed to eat something. By the time she’d made it back out of the bathroom, Mac had filleted the catch, cleaned up the mess and put the fish in the fridge. He’d checked she was okay, asking through the locked bathroom door. She’d managed to mumble a response and after hearing him hover outside the door for a second, presumably uncertain what to do under the circumstances, eventually the front door closed and the house fell silent. Well, apart from the delicate sound of one final gip before she managed to escape the bathroom. So this was morning sickness. She’d been hoping that she might avoid this bit. That the universe would help her adjust to this potential new life course by letting her skip this stage. Ease her in gently. She’d been dreading the prospect after remembering a colleague on a film set who’d begged her to keep her own sickness quiet for fear of losing the job. Emily covered up by telling the producer she was bulimic, which felt shitty at the time, but it was a fact that bulimia was far more forgivable than pregnancy when it came to Hollywood.
Hollywood. Film and television. Theatre wasn’t much better. Most of them in it for themselves, egos, the producers all vying for position at any cost. Which is exactly why she couldn’t tell Jackson that she was still pregnant. His career was everything to him, it was his priority. Could he ever be excited about the prospect of becoming a father? It didn’t appear so, he’d been pretty quick to arrange a termination for her. It was a business call, like all the other times. Why hadn’t her pregnancy been different for him? Instead, they barely discussed it and she went along with his plan because she thought that’s what she was supposed to do. Which was what she always did, do what she was supposed to do. Any excitement had gone, fast replaced with shock. She didn’t feel how she imagined other women must feel, how she always imagined she’d feel, any time she’d daydreamed about parenthood before. So that was a good enough reason to terminate, wasn’t it?
That’s what she’d allowed herself to believe. Jackson had never wanted kids. He’d made that abundantly clear from the outset. It was
why he split up with his first wife, and his second for that matter. Emily had briefly thought she might be different. Not just about the baby, but their relationship. That she might be the one to get him to settle, to enjoy being with someone as much as he enjoyed his work. He’d tell her that he loved her, that he wasn’t the same without her. If they ever quarrelled, on the rare occasions she’d bother disagreeing with him, things would escalate, he’d shout. He’d tell her she was wrong and give her every reason why. Then if she cried, he’d buy lavish gifts to make her feel better. Don’t cry, here, take this handbag or necklace or weekend away to a five-star hotel. She had all the finest designer gowns to choose from when attending an event. She’d recount the name of the designer with a wide, privileged smile. She was good at making out she was happy. Mostly because she wasn’t certain she wasn’t, perhaps until now. It was false. Everything was smoke and mirrors for the sake of his reputation. The things she’d told herself were simply because he cared, started to look much more like things to control her, to keep her in place. To keep her in line, just as her father always wanted. Which was no doubt why Daddy liked him. Was it right that his acceptance brought about her relief? Her mum thought Jackson was sweet. He seemed to patchwork their relationship too, something she’d been longing for since she was fifteen or sixteen, when pending adulthood seemed to push them all apart. And yet, she missed him. Maybe he’d just needed time too, to get used to the idea of becoming a dad. Had she been too quick to leave?
Her tummy rumbled. She peered at the plate of mackerel in the fridge. Good oils. Vitamins. Probably exactly what her body needed right now, irrespective of the fact she had no idea what to do with it. The phone rang.
‘Emily? Junior said you weren’t very well, are you okay? Do you need anything?’ Betty’s voice was concern rather than nosiness. Emily was glad she could tell the difference.
‘Junior?’ Emily asked and then she remembered. ‘Oh, Mac. Yes, no. Don’t worry. I’m fine, I just came over a bit… queasy, that’s all.’ Part of her wanted to tell Betty why, it was likely she’d have some remedy to pass over, some pearl of maternal wisdom. ‘I’m fine, honestly. In fact, I was just going to cook some of the fish that Mac left. Bless him, he sorted it all out for me, all I’ve got to do is cook it.’ Emily realised she’d said it in a way that suggested she had the first idea how to cook it. Was it too late to ask for help?
‘Oh, bless him, he’s a good lad. Makes us very proud.’
‘I should think so.’
‘But you’re okay? ’Cause I can come up and help out if you need anything?’
‘I’m fine, truly.’ Emily looked down at the mackerel and around her kitchen. ‘Just need to find the right pan for the fish. And some butter… yes? Butter?’
‘Yes, a little bit of butter, just fry them off a little, will be lovely. You don’t need to add anything to it.’
‘Right.’
‘Lovely, it’ll make your hair shine. Perfect.’
Emily swallowed back a vague wash of nausea.
‘Erm, whilst I’ve got you, Emily. That young man came back, the one you warned me about.’
‘Oh, right. Yes.’
‘Yes, I didn’t tell him anything, obviously. I mean, I told him I had a rough idea who you were but no clue where you lived.’
‘Thanks, Betty.’
‘It’s fine. No problem. I told the girls at the Women’s Group too.’ Emily had once called the Women’s Group the Women’s Institute when she first moved in and thought she should acquaint herself with the neighbours. Betty made it very clear they were not the same thing. ‘We do not make jam,’ she’d said. ‘They understand. We once did a similar thing for Frances O’Connor. Not shielding her from a movie mogul, just from her ex-husband, but still, I think you’re pretty well covered.’
‘Amazing, thanks, Betty. I was wondering how long I’d have to hide for.’
‘Oh, you’ve no need to hide now. He’s gone back apparently, boss’s orders. They have a meeting for something, I can’t remember. He did tell me, I wasn’t really interested. Anyway, he left a note for you, from Jackson, I think. He asked me to pass it on if you came into the shop. It’s down on the till, unless you want me to get Mac to drop it up?’
Emily paled at the idea of Mac coming back to her house having embarrassed herself utterly the first time. ‘No, no. It’s fine. If Mason’s definitely gone, I’ll come down to the shop. Probably tomorrow now.’
‘Right on.’
‘Thanks, Betty.’
‘You’re very welcome, my bird. Glad to help. See you later.’
Emily powered up her laptop whilst the mackerel cooked in butter. She scrolled through updates from friends, a few pictures from a young company manager she’d worked with who’d gone off and had a baby. She watched some viral film from a group of mums and their Down Syndrome children, they were all singing a song in a car about how they wouldn’t change a thing, all ahead of World Down Syndrome Day and Emily couldn’t help but cry. She put her hand to her belly and wondered briefly. She was forty. She’d be classed as an older mum. Were older mums more at risk? Should it factor into her thinking? They wouldn’t change a thing… She scrolled on, and there was his face. Jackson. His arm draped over some young actress he’d been courting for a new Broadway show he was producing. A job Emily would actually have quite liked but he’d told her she was too old. Which is what he said about parenthood. That they were both too old.
Amanda
Amanda sat down at the breakfast bar, a cheese toastie under the grill, and reread the message from Jess. She’d thought about it off and on throughout Jeremy Kyle and This Morning. Now Loose Women were on and the four of them on stage together made Amanda wonder if they were really friends in real life, as they appeared on screen. And if not, who were these women’s real friends? And were they people from a million years ago who knew them before they were famous? Like friends she had, who knew her before she was an escort.
Jaffa the cat purred and stretched on the kitchen worktop, inviting her to rub his belly. ‘What do you think, Jaffa? Should I go meet them for coffee?’ He let her rub his tummy for three seconds before changing his mind about her affection, giving her a warning swipe with claws extended, then darted out the cat flap. ‘Thanks for the advice,’ she called after him.
She turned the toastie over, turning her attention to a pair of trainers under the stairs, taking the Stilton out of them to check how they smelled. They were almost ready for the client who’d gifted them on the basis that she returned them after several sweaty wears. That she didn’t have smelly feet was not something she was going to let stand in the way of payment, so she’d keep them where they were until the cheese honk had really set in. These were the sort of things she couldn’t talk about to just anyone, but the sort of things that – with the right people – would make them howl with laughter, protagonist’s anonymity protected. Could she chat to the girls about that sort of thing? Would they find the humour in it? She’d never tell anyone that she was having incredible sex with Trev, obviously, that wasn’t okay, he paid her for her modesty as much as her sex game… but she could totally tell them she was shagging a fitty from school and leave them all guessing.
The Magic 8-Ball caught her eye. Zennor had bought it for her a few Christmases ago and it’s true to say she’d used it more than once since then. She reached up to the shelf, taking it in her hands. How best to ask the question? If she was going to put her faith in a plastic chance ball, she really needed to channel the right mood.
She closed her eyes and centred herself. Magic 8, Magic 8, should I reconnect with my mates? Amanda shook the ball, holding it tightly in her hands, looking up to the ceiling and concentrating on her question. Come on Magic 8, give a girl a sign… Slowly, nervously, she turned it over in her hand, revealing the answer: Ask again later. Amanda threw the ball across the sofa. She picked up her phone. Jess said Sunday. The Old Grammar School. The four of them, back together, reunited, a lifetime behind them, the
y couldn’t possibly run out of things to say. She was going to go. She was doing it. She was definitely not going to stress about this. They were her girls, her tribe.
Oh my god, hi! How lovely to hear from you! Meeting up would be brilliant, yes! Sunday, at The Old Grammar School. I will definitely be there, woohoo!!! Xxxx
Emily
Emily dropped her bag down on the shingle and, rolling a towel out, lowered herself gently to sit cross-legged, facing out to sea, hands on her knees, back straight. She gazed at the clear blue water. Small, clean waves rolled in from as far as she could see. There were no clouds, just miles and miles of crisp blue sky. A gull caught a thermal, letting the warmth lift it before it ducked out, gliding back down. Beyond the gull, cormorants dove for fish and if she wasn’t mistaken, a seal was playing in the waves too. The scene lifted her heart, it filled her with contentment. She looked towards the sun, closing her eyes to feel its gentle warmth. Today’s sickness had subsided, leaving utter exhaustion, but a strange sense of peace. Maybe she could do this alone, maybe she didn’t need to tell Jackson. Maybe this baby would be the making of her, give her new focus. Women did it all the time, why couldn’t she? Who was he to say she wasn’t a natural mother; maybe she was the most natural mother in the world?
Her Best Friend's Secret: A gripping, emotional novel about love, life and the power of friendship Page 7