by Linda Green
‘Not till eleven, I’m afraid. And Adrian’s got tickets for some gig in town, so I said I’d go with him.’
‘Sure. No problem.’
‘I can cancel and come round to yours instead? It doesn’t matter.’
‘No. I don’t want to mess up your plans. I’ll probably be asleep by then anyway, to be honest.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Yeah. I’ll catch up with you soon. Have a good one.’
‘And you. Well, a good kip anyway.’
I hang up, biting hard on my bottom lip. A few moments later my phone beeps. It is Sadie, sending a whole load of emojis that I haven’t got the energy to look through. I click on to Facebook. People are still talking about Carrie Fisher dying and posting Star Wars links. Lee didn’t seem that bothered about it, which surprised me. When I asked him why, he said it was only really the male characters he’d been into.
Everybody is saying how they are going to be pleased to see the back of 2016. And doing loads of RIPs for all the celebrities who have died. And all I can think is that next year, all these people will be saying how truly awful 2017 was. And remembering me.
I go to my timeline and scroll back to the most recent photo of H.
‘Can’t wait to meet you,’ I say, kissing the screen. I go to bed then, knowing that when I wake up, it will be the year I meet him and the year I say goodbye.
Sadie Ward Jess Mount
11 July 2018
A year ago today I lost my best friend. I still can’t believe you’re gone, Jess. I still look for you on the station platform, I still expect to hear you having a laugh at work and I still miss you more than words can ever express.
Not everyone has a best friend like I did. My first memory is of playing with you at school. I don’t remember life before you. It’s been like starting over for me, learning to live my life without you. And most of the time I can get by, I can just about manage to function and hold down my job and be civil to people. But sometimes I wake up in the morning and all I can think about is what happened to you, then I lie in bed at night, unable to sleep because I feel so bad about it all, and in between those two points all I have is a huge fucking great void in my life which is the space you used to fill. I miss you, Jess. I love you, and although I’m not allowed to say anything on here about what happened, I want you and everyone to know that when the court case starts, I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And I will do it for you.
Jess
Tuesday, 14 February 2017
Last year there were roses. Two dozen of them. I remember them being delivered to work and Nina muttering about some people having more money than sense. I remember feeling special, spoilt, adored even.
This year, there is a card on the breakfast bar in the kitchen.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ Lee says, coming over and giving me a kiss. I do not feel worthy of even this. I am standing there in my grubby dressing gown, the belt tied loosely under my bump. My hair is straggly, there are dark circles under my eyes. I don’t know who the hell these women are, the ones who are supposed to bloom in pregnancy, because it is certainly not me. I am wilting and dying in front of his eyes.
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a card from my dressing gown pocket and handing it to him.
We open them at the same time. Lee has written ‘To the mother of my son’ inside. I wonder again what has happened to Jess, the girl he fell in love with. I am not sure she even exists anymore. We both make the appropriate noises; I don’t know what to say after that. I put the radio on to cover the awkward atmosphere while we eat breakfast. Lee loads the dishwasher while I get ready for work. I have finally relented and bought maternity clothes. I was trying to avoid them – the term ‘maternity wear’ makes me feel queasy – but I have got to the point where I can no longer get away with simply wearing clothes a size or two bigger. I put on my maternity leggings and pull the new charcoal-grey jersey tunic down over them. I turn to look in the mirror. All I can think is that Sadie would piss herself laughing if she could see me now. I run a brush through my hair and tuck it behind one ear in the vain hope that it will somehow salvage a tiny amount of respectability. It doesn’t. I step out into the hallway, where Lee is waiting. He looks me up and down, a frown on his face.
‘Are you planning to wear that to work?’
‘I know it’s rank. Nothing else fits anymore.’
‘Well, you can’t go like that. You’re a receptionist, Jess. You’ve got to look the part.’
‘What part? I’m pregnant. This is what you look like when you’re pregnant, unless you’re Beyoncé, which I’m not.’
‘There’s no need for that.’ His tone has sharpened. He looks at me with utter disdain.
I feel myself shrinking back against the wall. ‘What do you suggest I do, then?’
‘Go into town and get yourself something more appropriate to wear. I’ll tell Carl you’ve got a doctor’s appointment. And make sure, when you do come in, you look like you’re coming to an office, not a mums and toddlers’ coffee morning.’
He turns and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.
I close my eyes. The sad thing is that my first response is not anger that he talked to me that way, but relief that he didn’t hit me. ‘Happy bloody Valentine’s Day,’ I mutter, as I slump back against the wall.
*
I’m not convinced the new outfit’s made much of a difference, to be honest, but I arrive at work an hour later in a sleeveless black maternity dress from H&M, tights and ankle boots. I’ve put more make-up on too, in the hope that it will at least signify that I’ve made ‘an effort’. I take my coat off and squeeze behind the front desk. It’s not so bad when I am here, top half only and all that.
I remember Beth, the receptionist who I replaced, struggling in her stilettos at eight months pregnant. I don’t think I’ll actually fit behind the desk at eight months.
Carl comes down shortly afterwards. He stands at the side of the desk. I see his gaze fall to my boots and back up again.
‘Jess,’ he says. ‘I understand you’re struggling a bit with work now, so I was going to suggest we bring your maternity leave forward so you can finish at the end of the month. Hopefully that will work better all round.’
I stare at him. There is only one person that could have possibly come from. Lee told him to do this. Lee is so embarrassed at the way I look that he no longer wants to work with me. I try to push the hurt down inside of me so I am capable of speaking.
‘No, thanks. That won’t be necessary,’ I reply.
Carl’s eyebrows rise. Clearly he is not used to women answering him back.
‘Well, I’m your boss and I think it is. That’s not a look we want to greet our clients with. I suggest you stay behind the desk as much as possible until you leave in two weeks.’
I am so stunned it is difficult to know what to say. ‘Fuck you’ would be the obvious response. That is what Jess Mount would have said. But Jess Mount doesn’t exist anymore.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘And just so you know, I shan’t be coming back.’
Carl smiles in a way that suggests he is very pleased to hear it.
‘Oh, and in the meantime, if we could stick to the office dress code with regard to heels, that would be great.’
He disappears before I have the chance to say anything, which is probably just as well.
*
It is about an hour later when the flowers arrive for me. Two dozen red roses, tied with a massive red bow. Amy, one of the account executives, is in reception when they are delivered.
‘Wow,’ she says. ‘Lucky lady. Go on, take a photo of them for Facebook, show the world how much he loves you.’
I smile at her before she goes back upstairs. I suspect she knows as well as I do that it is all about keeping up appearances.
>
*
It had been Sadie’s idea to meet up for lunch on Valentine’s Day. She said it was the only way she would get taken out for a meal, even if it was just a sandwich at Caffè Nero. I’m just relieved to have escaped the office, to be honest.
She is grinning as I approach her.
‘What’s up with you?’ I ask.
‘You, looking like a properly pregnant woman, that’s what.’
‘You should have seen what I looked like this morning before I changed.’
‘You’ll be updating your profile pic to one of you holding your naked bump next.’
‘Don’t hold your breath.’
‘It is weird, though, how things have changed. I was just remembering that thing we did a few years ago of booking a table for two at a restaurant on Valentine’s night and then turning up and being loud and drunk just to piss all the couples off.’
‘I’m sure they remember you fondly, too.’
‘Well, someone’s got to cut through all the romantic crap, haven’t they? Talking of which, what did he get you?’
‘Red roses,’ I reply. ‘Like last year.’
‘See, he’s trapped now, isn’t he? Once he’s set the bar high like that, he’ll have to do it every year or you’ll think he’s going off you. I’d start with a single rose, me. Then, if I did go off them, it would still look romantic but it wouldn’t be nearly as expensive.’
I laugh, even though I do not feel like laughing inside. Just being in Sadie’s company is the best therapy I can have right now. ‘Come on,’ I say, fiddling with my wedding ring. ‘Let’s go and get our slap-up Valentine’s sarnie.’
Sadie tells me all the news from work while we queue. The usual stuff about what Nina said, and another chef quitting, and some guy on the double sofa at the back of screen two having to be told to zip himself back up. I miss it. All of it. I miss Sadie, I miss having a laugh, I miss Jess.
‘So, how’s things with you?’ she asks as we sit down with our lunch.
‘Yeah, fine. Knackered, as usual.’
‘How long before you finish work? Another month or so?’
‘No, just a couple of weeks actually. I’m leaving at the end of the month.’
‘Oh, right. Won’t you go stir-crazy sitting around for six weeks doing nothing?’
‘Yeah, well. I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. Carl has decided I do not meet the image requirements of a receptionist now that I resemble Gloria from Madagascar.’
‘Are you serious? That’s fucking illegal.’
‘I know. Wouldn’t look good to take my husband’s company to court, mind.’
‘What does Lee think about this?’
I finish my mouthful slowly in order to ensure that I have composed myself enough to answer.
‘Don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet.’
Sadie looks at me. I can’t get anything past her.
‘Is everything OK?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘It’s just a difficult time all round, I guess. Everything will be better once the baby comes.’
She doesn’t appear convinced, but I don’t think she’s going to push it in a public place like this.
‘Well, until then, you can come and have lunch with me any time you want,’ she says, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.
‘That’s if I can still waddle into town by then.’
‘It will be fun watching you try.’
‘And once we’ve got the move out of the way.’
‘I’d forgotten about that. I’ve still never heard of anyone moving house one floor down.’
‘It’ll be more like moving hotel rooms, to be honest. I can practically pack all my things in a suitcase.’
‘Where’s all your other stuff then?’
‘At home. I mean Dad’s. Lee doesn’t like clutter. And most of it is crap – old books and photos and mementoes and that.’
‘That’s not crap, that’s the important stuff.’
I take a sip of my hot chocolate.
‘So what’s the new place like?’ she continues.
‘Exactly the same as the current one but with an extra bedroom.’ I stop myself as I realise Sadie has never seen our apartment. ‘You’ll have to come round one morning before work to see it – when I’m on maternity leave, I mean.’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I’d like that.’
‘But we’d better wait until Angela’s finished decorating the nursery. Sounds like she’ll be practically living with us while she does it.’
‘Won’t that do your head in?’
I shrug. ‘I guess it’s nice that she’s so excited about it.’
‘Sounds a bit OTT to me.’
‘She means well.’
‘You won’t be saying that when she’s stencilling fucking rocking horses and teddy bears on your walls.’
I laugh. A proper laugh. Like the ones Jess Mount used to do.
Jess
November 2008
I am lying in a hospital bed. Everything has gone inside out and upside down. It got worse after the train thing. Much worse. There was an episode at school where I was screaming at one of the teachers and refusing to go on a school trip because the coach wasn’t safe. And another one where I pulled a boy off his bike on the tow-path because I could tell he was going to hurt someone.
Edward said I had ceased to be able to function effectively in society, that I needed to be under twenty-four-hour psychiatric care while they assessed me and sorted out my medication. So now I am on the inside with all the crazies. I have been locked up by the people who really are crazy, and they are on the outside. They say they’re only trying to help me, they’re doing what is best for me. But that is because they want to carry on being crazy and they don’t want people to realise that I am right.
Dad is sitting in the chair next to my bed. He has been crying a lot. And staring out of the window. When I look at him, I see the fear in his eyes. He thinks I am going mad and he doesn’t know what to do and he’s beating himself up about it, but it’s not his fault that Mum died. It’s nobody’s fault. It just happened. Like it could happen to any of us at any time. And that’s the whole problem.
The nurse comes round with my medication. I do not want to take it. They are trying to turn me into a zombie who thinks the same way as everyone else. And the pills have side effects. I have read all about them. They are trying to kill me from the inside now. I put the tablets in the side of my mouth behind my teeth, drink some water, open my mouth and the nurse thinks they have gone. She says something to me but I do not hear the words properly. It is like I am underwater and the people above the surface are talking but I can’t hear the words. Dad smiles and nods. Later, when they are not looking, I will go to the toilet and spit them out and flush them down the loo. And everyone will smile and say I am going to get better soon and I will start telling them what they want to hear and then they will have to let me go home and get off my back. And nothing will have changed and I will still think the same but they will be happy and say that they have cured me and that is what it is all about at the end of the day. They want to be proved right and say that I have been proved wrong, and then they will be satisfied. And I am going to give them that satisfaction because I have the far greater satisfaction of knowing they are complete idiots. I just have to keep that information to myself and I will be OK.
Angela
Wednesday, 1 March 2017
It is, as I warned Lee all those months ago, not a home at all. Certainly not a home to bring up a baby in. Jess and Lee only moved in a few days ago but they have already unpacked, so it should feel at least a tiny bit homely. It doesn’t though. It still looks like a hotel and they don’t have any knick-knacks or personal things to give it that homely feel. I gave them a framed embroidery for their wedding day, with their names a
nd the date on and everything, but I have never seen it put out anywhere. It’s certainly not here. There is only one photo on display: a black and white one of their wedding in a black frame. I know Lee likes this minimalist look, but I think he takes it a bit far, to be honest. Still, it will have to change once the baby arrives. You can’t have a baby and expect your home to be spotless and clutter-free. Everything is about to change, and to change for the better.
‘So’, I say, turning to Jess, ‘are you absolutely sure about the colour?’
She nods. I’d spent a long time looking at paint charts with her. I hadn’t quite realised how many shades of blue there are these days. We’ve gone for a sort of soft turquoise, which is brighter than traditional baby blue. Jess seemed to like it better. Lee didn’t seem too bothered, to be honest. He’s left the whole nursery to us, said it could be our project. Although he is paying for it, of course.
I dip the roller into the tray. I have never actually done this before. Simon always did the painting and decorating at our house. Well, apart from the wallpaper that I stripped in our bedroom. And after he left, I got an odd-job man in to do it. But a nursery is different. A nursery needs to be decorated with love. And it’s only a small room, so I’m quite sure we can do it between us in a day.
I place the roller on the wall and move it back and forth.
‘There,’ I say to Jess. ‘It’s going on lovely. The colour looks a treat, too.’
‘Yeah,’ she replies, looking up from her own roller. She seems quieter these days. Like someone has sucked the spirit out of her. I suppose she’s tired, which is understandable. But I do worry about her, especially after what Joe said about her going to that mental hospital. I mean, she must have been in quite a state to be admitted. Clearly, she wouldn’t be fit to look after a baby if that happened again. It’s a good job I’m around. I have told Lee I will pop in every day once the baby is here, just to keep an eye on her. I wouldn’t want him worrying while he’s at work. I know it must have been tough on her, losing her mum so young, but lots of other people go through things like that without cracking up, don’t they? And if she had a screw loose then, who’s to say it won’t come loose again?