Cross Her Heart

by Sarah Pinborough

  It’s a deal, a done deal, now drive away baby …

  Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I am just going mad. Maybe I broke the photos. Maybe it’s me who’s broken.

  14

  AVA

  My room is dark, except for the glow from my iPad and iPhone screens, like two moons in the night. Facebook is open on my iPad and I stare at it, waiting. I’m always waiting for him and it’s like an itch on the inside of my skin that I can’t reach. I think about him all the time. More when he’s like this – in a hurry or stuck doing something in his boring real life. He said he’d be back in ten minutes but it’s been nearly twenty.

  Have I driven him away by ranting about my mum? Was it teenage and childish? The skin on my bottom lip is sore where I’ve been biting it. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was so understanding of how embarrassed I’d felt when she invited Jodie to stay for tea. She hadn’t invited the others so it was totally obvious I’d been talking about how Jodie’s mum is never here. I really like Jodie and I felt like I’d betrayed her somehow – sharing her weird mum’s behaviour with my own. Thankfully, Jodie didn’t mind. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything and seems pretty normal.

  I look down at our last WhatsApps on my phone.

  So, is it a teacher? Your crush?

  I’d answered: Kind of.

  She hadn’t asked more. It’s what I like about Jodie. She knows when not to push. If it was the other way round, I’d be nagging her to tell me. I make a mental note in my how to be a better person endless list to try not to do that any more when someone has a secret. In a lot of ways, it’s made me want to tell her more. I want to tell someone. I’m bursting with it.

  My WhatsApp has three unanswered messages from Courtney too – even though he’s probably seen I’ve been online. I sent one to him earlier saying my mum was being a bitch about going out while my exams were on and he seemed to believe it.

  It made me feel a bit bad because he’s being so nice but I don’t want anyone here in the evenings. Not past around nine or ten when he might be around to chat.

  It’s midnight. Jodie went to bed an hour ago and Courtney’s given up on waiting for a reply, so I shut my iPad down and relax against the pillows, opening Messenger on my phone. Once, a while back, I sent a text to Lizzie meant for Angela. Thankfully, it wasn’t bitchy, but it made me paranoid about having too many conversations on the go at once on one device. I’d hate to send something meant for him to someone else.

  In the silence of the house, I find myself listening out for sounds in the corridor. What if Mum comes in my room again like she did the other night? Maybe I should go under my covers.

  You there, Beautiful?

  All thoughts of anyone else vanish and I sit up in my bed, my heart racing. He’s back.

  Yep. Right here, in bed. Waiting for you.;-)

  I feel hot and awkward about my words, but I press send anyway. I’m trying to sound sexy and flirty but at the same time I don’t want to go too far down that road – to pictures and videos and things. He asked before, once, last week, and I said no. I was too shy. He hasn’t asked since, and apologised. He said he’d had a few drinks and was thinking about me and got carried away. I kind of liked it though. Him thinking of me like that. I wonder if I’m in his head all the time like he is in mine?

  Still, maybe I should have sent something. In my underwear. Not with my face in it, obviously – I’m not stupid like Meg – but something to show him I’m a woman not a girl. But I hate my body and I can’t imagine it looking good at any selfie angle, like all those girls on Instagram do in their bikinis. My thighs would look awful. Maybe that’s what stopping me. My own embarrassment.

  Can’t chat long. Just wanted to say goodnight.

  My disappointment burns through me, a flame consuming curling paper.

  I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m sorry I’m so shit at this. I will make more time, I promise. One day we’ll have all the time in the world.

  I don’t say anything. I don’t want to sound moody and I need a moment to get myself together. He’s always saying he’ll make more time and in the future it will be different, but what about now?

  I thought you might have been with Courtney tonight. I’m glad you weren’t.

  My skin tingles and I feel the power shift. I told him Courtney was there for my birthday. He knows we’re sort of going out, even though I’ve said I’m probably going to end it.

  I thought about it, I type. He keeps texting me. He really wants to see me. I don’t know what to do.

  I hadn’t thought about it. I haven’t answered Courtney’s messages but there’s no need for him to know that. Not while he’s clearly worrying about it. This isn’t how I expected love to be when I was little. I thought people fell in love and everything was perfect. I should have realised that wasn’t the case from my own family, but no one ever told me how selfish love is. How it eats you up. How many games you have to play to get what you want.

  I don’t want you to see him, but that’s not fair on you.

  My heart leaps.

  Why? Are you jealous?

  It’s too direct.

  I’m annoyed at myself but I have to know. I don’t want him thinking I’ve been trying to make him jealous, which obviously I have.

  A bit. He seems too young for you. You’re too mature for a boy like him. He’s not going to make you happy.

  No, I answer. You make me happy. But you’re not here. We’ve never met. Courtney’s here.

  I’m proud of myself. I’m making this his fault.

  We should meet.

  The words shock me so much that for a minute the screen blurs slightly. My palms sweat with a surge of adrenaline.

  When?

  Does that sound too demanding? But I want to know. I want to meet him now. I’d get out of bed and go anywhere he asked to see him in the flesh and talk to him and all the other stuff.

  After your exams are over. About ten days? I’ll sort out a time and place and let you know. Will have to be at night, though. Is that okay?

  Is that okay? I’m grinning so hard I think my face will split.

  Yes, yes yes! xxxxxxxxx

  I’m too excited for any more games. And it’s good for him to know how happy this makes me.

  But keep it secret okay? Just us. It’ll be fun. No pressure.

  My heart is exploding.

  I promise I won’t tell a soul.

  And I mean it. I won’t. Maybe afterwards I’ll tell the girls – if there’s something to tell – but not before. They’d probably want to come with me, and no way is that happening.

  For a few moments he says nothing and then:

  Sorry, gotta go. Miss you, Beautiful. See you soon. Xx

  I sign off with about a hundred kisses and flop back on my pillows. We’re going to meet. We’re actually going to meet.

  This is the best thing ever.

  15

  LISA

  It’s been over a week and though I’ve started each day with a horrible worry about what it might bring, there’s been no more Frankie Vein, no more soggy rabbits in the street, no more missing pictures. For a few nights I upped my sleeping tablets, drowning myself in darkness and leaving my mornings fuzzy, but now, at last, the glue in my stomach is slowly coming unstuck. The weather has improved too, the rain making way for bright, warm sunshine. In this light and joy of summer it’s easier to convince myself it’s all been a coincidence.

  Life has also settled down here at work with the new staff at PKR. It’s odd how quickly a set of people can become the status quo. Those gone to the new branch are like ghosts in my memory now and it’s quietly comforting – how easily people can be forgotten.

  A giggle – quickly covered up – comes from across the room. Despite my initial thoughts that Stacey was too smart to fall for Toby’s smooth patter, it looks like I was wrong and their flirting is becoming quite obvious. Heat fills the spaces between them, a warm ocean undercurrent if you walk through it. Sti
ll, I can hardly comment, given that I’m going out for dinner with Simon tonight.

  Dinner with Simon Manning. I feel sick with nerves. Not just nerves. It’s excitement too. A distraction from this unease – this fear – which has gripped me. But now I still have the fear and also all this. All this emotion. I’m not used to it. I have lived a dampened life. It’s been easier that way.

  I haven’t told Marilyn yet and I should. I will. But I know how excited she’ll be which will add to the pressure for it to be something when I’m telling myself it’s only a friendly meal. Plus, the last thing I need is for any of the others here to pick up on something. I’m not keeping it exactly a secret, but I’m not telling anyone. I don’t think he has either.

  I look at the clock. It’s nearly two o’clock. Ava will be in her final exam now – the last of her GCSEs. I still find it hard to believe my baby is nearly a sixth former. I imagine after the past few days she can’t wait for those last two years to fly by. It’s not been a good week for us. I’ve been too clingy – that song going round and round and round in my head tightening like a vice on my nerves, and I’ve been terrified every time she’s left my sight. I tried to look at her phone and iPad while she slept, but she has passwords on both. In return, she’s bitten my head off at every opportunity. I can hardly blame her.

  I get my phone out and send her a quick text.

  Hope the last exam went well! I’ve got some money for you in case you want to go out and celebrate with the girls. Remind me when I get home. Xx

  I’ll give her fifty pounds. It’s a stupid amount, I know, and I ignore the voice in my head warning me that at her age it’s more likely to be bottles of vodka she’ll spend the money on. At least this way she and her friends can line their stomachs with a cheap pizza first. Anyway, they’re sporty girls. They wouldn’t risk their swimming by doing anything stupidly unhealthy. This is what I tell myself. The floating branch I cling to in the energetic uncontrollable torrent of my daughter’s life.

  It’s the festival tomorrow. She’ll probably save a lot of the money for that. I’m going with Marilyn and Richard – the days of Ava holding my hand are long gone – and I’m looking forward to it. Live music, a funfair, sunshine, hot dogs and candyfloss. Everything I need to dispel my lingering disquiet.

  ‘Brownie?’

  I look up, slightly startled. Julia is holding out a Tupperware box of roughly cut chocolate squares. ‘You made them?’ I sound incredulous, my words coming too quickly to hide how at odds I find the idea with what I think I know of her.

  ‘I find it relaxing,’ she says.

  I have no choice but to take one. ‘Thanks. I’ll get a coffee and have it in a minute.’ It feels moist and heavy, exactly as it should. She bakes well. Of course she does. She holds the box out to Marilyn and I look at her delicate nails and try to imagine her in a kitchen covered in flour.

  She brought flowers in the other morning to ‘brighten the reception area up’. They were lilies; beautiful and expensive and stinking of grief. Penny loves her which makes me feel worse about what I saw. I can’t prove anything so I’ve tried to forget it. But Julia’s a strange one. Even with these friendly gestures that scream out for approval, there’s a coldness to her, as if she’s ice at her core.

  ‘I’d be huge if I ate everything I baked myself.’ Her face tightens and there’s the hint of a line around her mouth I haven’t noticed before. Detail, detail, that’s me. Her Botox or fillers or whatever she uses to make herself look younger must be wearing off.

  ‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ Marilyn says. ‘Thanks, Julia.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ I say. ‘Let’s make one for everyone.’ I need to tell Marilyn about the dinner – the date. I don’t want to keep any secrets from her if I don’t have to. If I can trust anyone in my life, it’s her.

  16

  AVA

  ‘Thank God it’s all over!’ Ange says as we slam our cubicle doors. We’ve beaten the rush out of the sports hall at the end of the exam, everyone else still squealing at each other about what was good and what was bad.

  Ange’s happy sigh is accompanied by the sound of her urgent piss hitting the toilet bowl. She has no inhibitions. She’ll walk naked around the changing rooms after swimming while the rest of us try to pull our clothes on under damp towels.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Thank fuck.’ I’m not really listening. I’m staring down at my clean knickers. I was sure, sure, I’d felt the first twinge of my period an hour ago. What is it? A week or so late now? I wish I kept a better track, but who does? Periods just are. They turn up. It’s what they do. For the first time this week I’m not exactly worried about it, but I’d feel better if it came. I force out a half-hearted wee I don’t need and then check again as I wipe, willing the paper to be streaked with blood. It’s not.

  Outside, doors bang and more girls turn up and so I flush and escape to the sinks. Ange is already there, plumping up her full lips with shiny gloss and my phone pings a couple of times as I turn it back on. Courtney and Mum. I tell Courtney we’ll be out tonight and then I open the text from Mum.

  ‘The cash machine is paying up,’ I say as I scan through the message. I feel mean calling Mum that, but Ange came up with the nickname for her back at the start of Year Ten, and it kind of stuck. ‘I told you she would. Plenty for tonight and the festival tomorrow.’

  ‘Is Courtney around tonight?’ Ange isn’t using her stupid faux American accent, but the question does sound as if she’s bored, which means she’s curious. I wonder if Ange slightly fancies him herself. She’s the one who asks the most.

  ‘Yeah, I figure we can all meet up, maybe.’ I don’t mind the idea of seeing Courtney. We can celebrate together and I can plead the period I don’t have if he tries anything too heavy. I do miss him a bit, weirdly. Not in that way, but it was fun when we were all hanging around together at the start. Having the boys there breaks up our intensity. Our Fabulous Four-ness. MyBitches.

  Plus, Courtney isn’t such an issue now. He’s simply a distraction to fill in the days until I meet him. A little over a week to go. One week. I can’t believe it.

  My period better bloody come before then.

  17

  MARILYN

  ‘So, how was your day?’ Richard asks, flicking through the channels, no doubt looking for sport or some home repair show to fill the time before bed. I don’t mind what he chooses, to be honest. All I want is to eat my dinner, maybe have a long hot bath, quickly check in on how Lisa’s evening went, and then bed.

  ‘You know, the same as usual. Still getting the new girls up to speed.’ We’ve slumped on the sofa with plates of frozen lasagne and oven chips with a smattering of peas as an attempt to make it look like a balanced diet. I worked through lunch so me and Lisa could leave early to get her a new dress, and I’m starving. I have a sudden pang of envy at Lisa’s evening. A beautiful restaurant. Charming company. A new dress. New beginnings. It’s only a gentle envy. I can’t be jealous of this. I’m getting joy from her joy. It’s about time she dated, although a little part of me is worried he’ll whisk her away and then what will I do? You don’t make new best friends in your forties. I don’t think I could. Especially not now.

  I scoop up a forkful of lasagne and it’s surprisingly good and I didn’t have to get all dressed up for it either. There are small pleasures to be found in sofa living.

  ‘You said you were going to make a curry.’ Richard is looking at his plate as if I’ve stuck a steaming dog turd on it and for a moment I want to shout, Oh just fucking eat it, but I don’t. I’m shattered and it’s not worth it. Anything for an easy life.

  ‘You like lasagne better. And I thought maybe we could go for a curry or something after the River Festival tomorrow if you fancy it? Ask Lisa along? They’ve got a banquet-night offer on at the Bekash in the high street. Ridiculously cheap.’ I smile at him. ‘We may need it after beer in the fresh air.’

  He doesn’t smile back but picks at a chip. ‘I was driving thro
ugh town this afternoon. Went to get some supplies for the outside office I’m doing for the Grange couple,’ he says. ‘I saw you and Lisa. Pretty sure it was you. Going into that underwear shop.’

  My heart sinks. For a start, I know the Grange job was cancelled. They decided they couldn’t afford it. He’s forgotten he told me.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Only room for one liar on this couch. I stare at the TV, my hunger fading. I’m too tired for this tonight. His moods. ‘She’s going out for dinner with that client. You know, the one I told you about. The one who likes her.’

  ‘You didn’t say they had a date.’

  ‘I didn’t know until today.’

  He doesn’t believe me, I can tell. ‘And you thought she needed new underwear for it?’

  ‘It was only for fun. So she’d feel sexy.’

  He laughs. ‘What, if she’s dressed like a slut, she’ll act like one?’

  I flush. I can’t help it. ‘Lisa’s not a slut and you know it. She’s a nun, if anything.’

  ‘I didn’t say she was. I’ll bet it wasn’t her idea to tart herself up.’

  My hunger evaporates. ‘Are you saying I am?’

  His eyes scan me. ‘It would take more than new underwear to sort you out. You’ve put on weight. Too much wine and crap food with the wankers you work with probably. Turning you into a fat cow. Still, at least I don’t have to worry about rich clients trying to fuck you.’

  So it’s going to be one of these nights. Another one of these nights. More business problems that are somehow all my fault. We used to laugh together on this sofa. Seems a lifetime ago now.

  My lasagne grows cold. Untouched and unwanted. I know how it feels.

  18

  LISA

  There is no way I’m going to be able to eat anything. My stomach has folded itself up into a tiny square and while I don’t have the awful cramps of last week, it’s a whole different kind of anxiety. I must look ridiculous too. When I’d quietly told Marilyn about the dinner she’d looked so stunned I thought she was having some kind of haemorrhage but then she burst into life and insisted we get away early and go and buy something new to wear.