Hot Mess_Bridget Jones for a new generation

by Lucy Vine

  ‘Ellie?’

  I whip round, looking up. It’s Sophie. She’s leaning out of the upstairs window, blinking at me in astonishment.

  ‘Ellie?’ she says again, like she’s not sure it’s me. I stare up at her, mouth open. She disappears and a minute later the front door opens.

  She looks pale and tired – worse than my last visit – and I can’t tell from her face whether she’s pleased to see me. I can’t tell what she’s thinking about me just turning up here like this. It’s been nearly two weeks since we’ve spoken and it feels like so much longer. She silently opens the door wider and gestures for me to follow her to the living-room. The scene of the crime.

  Everything looks the same, and I think about how much I hate how life and the world keeps going, even when things are bad.

  We stand across from each other for a second and then Sophie crosses her arms defensively. I have to say something now or the moment will be lost and we’ll be stuck forever with this giant chasm between us. Now. Start talking now. START TALKING, ELEANOR.

  ‘I . . . ’ I begin. And then I – like a stupid, idiotic child – just burst into tears. ‘I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m so so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am. I didn’t mean any of those things I said. I’m so stupid and awful and you don’t have to forgive me but actually forget that because you do have to forgive me. Please forgive me. I was just watching The OC with Milly and we can’t let that go, Sophie, you could die in a car crash tomorrow, like Marissa, and I have to be allowed to come to your funeral. And I’m sorry I’m crying, I don’t want you to think I’m crying to get sympathy. It’s totally not that, it’s just about being a pathetic wreck. I’m so sorry.’

  My hands are over my face now, trying to hold in the tears, but I don’t stop talking.

  ‘Everything you said about me was right. I am a loser and you’re right about me being afraid to try things. You’re right about me running away too. I ran away to L.A., can you believe that? I totally maxed out my Barclaycard. But I’m back now and I don’t want to run away from you because you’re my best friend and you always have been and I can’t believe I’ve ruined it. Please say I haven’t ruined this? Please say you’re still my best friend. I’ll do anything, Soph. I’ll do all your jobs, I’ll clean this house right now. I’ll clean this house from top to bottom every day for the next month. I will come down here every day after work and clean this fucking house. If you just say you forgive me, I’ll do anything.’

  I peek from between my fingers. Sophie looks annoyed.

  ‘Are you saying my house isn’t clean?’ she says, tapping her foot. ‘Do you think we should be cleaning it every day? I’ll tell Ryan he better step up his dusting.’ She smiles now, mischievously, and I snort some snot into my hands. She takes a step towards me and puts her arms around me.

  ‘I’m the sorry one, Elle, you didn’t deserve any of those things I said. It was so unfair and you know I think you’re fantastic. I guess . . . I guess I just get lonely out here. Not all the time, but a lot of the time. It’s just me and Ciara and it’s lonely. Being a mum is amazing but it’s so completely exhausting and one dimensional. You’re never allowed to just be any more, just lie about all day at the weekend like we used to. I have to be on my feet every second. And everything is centred around guilt and worry and fear and sleep. I love Ciara so much, and I wouldn’t change it, but you remind me of the freedom I had before. I’ve been redefined as a mother now. And when I’m not a mother, I’m a wife. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, it just feels like there’s not a lot of room to be Sophie any more. I love my life, but it’s a different one to the one I had before. I’ve been a bit lost trying to work out if I’m OK with that.’

  I lean into her, holding on tightly and sniffling into her jumper.

  She keeps going. ‘I accused you of being left behind because I’m afraid it’s what is happening to me. I feel left behind by you. I forced you into dating so you would settle down and maybe join me out here. But even your dating made me feel left out. I miss our old life together. This new life is wonderful in all kinds of ways, but I’m sad it meant leaving our old one behind. I’m so sorry I put all that on you. And I’m so sorry I forced you onto Tinder. It sounds awful, please quit.’

  I laugh, that is good to hear. ‘I get it,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I really get it, and I’m so sorry if I haven’t been there for you enough. I want to be. And I want to be a part of this soccer mom life of yours.’ I smile, she smiles, we laugh again.

  ‘You know my life isn’t beige?’ she hiccups and gestures at the walls around us. ‘It’s eggshell white.’

  Someone behind us clears his throat.

  ‘Room for me?’ says Thomas, who’s just emerged from the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘Thomas!’ I shriek and he climbs into the group hug.

  We stand there for a couple of minutes, holding on to each other, remembering how it feels to be together, smelling each other, hugging away the crappy feelings of the last two weeks.

  I’m the first to pull away, narrowing my eyes at Thomas. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, remembering my visions of him and Sophie still being friends without me. My fear of them making new memories as a duo.

  ‘Well,’ he says, squeezing my arm. ‘I couldn’t take any of this silence any more, so I called in sick at work and went over to your place this morning. I was looking for you. I wanted to clear the air and then drag you down here to sort things out with Soph. You weren’t there, obviously, but I met Josh. Er, nice guy.’

  Shit.

  ‘He said you’d gone to L.A.?’ Thomas adds, eyebrows raised. ‘And he told me I was a, er, “lucky man”.’

  Shit.

  ‘I don’t exactly know what that meant,’ [Sophie pinches me] ‘but I didn’t ask. He tried to make me drink a beer with him, said he wanted to talk. I had to pretend I’d left my car unlocked just to get out of there.’

  Thomas pauses again.

  ‘Plus, it was like ten in the morning. The guy seems like he’s a bit of a wreck.’

  Shit shit shit.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Thomas,’ I say sincerely. ‘For everything that happened, and also that you had to endure The Shithole.’

  ‘I’m sorry too, Ellie,’ he says, patting me gently.

  Sophie looks from Thomas to me. ‘Were you really in L.A.?’

  ‘Yep,’ I nod. ‘I went to see my sister, we got back yesterday. She and Milly have come back with me for a bit – things aren’t great with Andrew. She’s in the car outside right now, with my dad and Milly.’

  Sophie glances in the direction of the window. ‘Invite them in?’ she says half-heartedly. She and Jen never really got on very well, and I know she fears Milly’s terrible influence on her own daughter.

  ‘Nah, leave them be, let’s just all hug some more,’ I say, drawing them both in again. ‘And agree never to fight again?’ I say, hopefully.

  Sophie steps away from the group, looking worried. ‘Actually, there is one more thing I have to confess,’ she says hesitantly, sitting down on the sofa. ‘Please don’t be cross with me, but you know that art competition your company was involved in?’

  Oh fuck.

  ‘I know you said you didn’t want to enter –’ (I didn’t say that) ‘– but I thought it sounded amazing, so I . . . ’ She looks so uncomfortable. ‘I entered it for you. I entered the painting you did of me last year. The one you gave me for my birthday that usually hangs in my room. So anyway, you won’t believe this, but I got a call this morning, and it made the top twenty! Can you believe that, Ellie? Out of thousands of entries, you’re in the top twenty. You’re one of the winners!’

  She waits, nervously, looking at me intently. Thomas is watching me too.

  I don’t say anything so she goes on. ‘You’ll be part of the exhibition next month.’ She looks excited. ‘Your painting will be touring the country. Isn’t that amazing? It might be the start of something huge for you.’

  She waits ag
ain, and I think about how to say what I need to say.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ she says, her voice shaking. ‘I just wanted to do something for you. Give you that push. You’re so talented and—’

  I cut her off.

  ‘Actually.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I didn’t come top twenty, I came first.’

  Sophie looks confused. ‘No, you—’

  I interrupt her again. ‘I’m not angry, Soph, I promise. Thank you for doing that. But you’re wrong, I wasn’t scared to enter, I was just scared to tell anyone I’d entered. The truth is, I was one of the first to send in my entry.’ Thomas and Sophie are gawping at me, so I go on. ‘Remember Elizabeth at The Hales’ party? She was talking about the “new Banksy” people were getting excited about? Well . . . that was my entry. I got a call today, same as you. I won the competition.’

  Both their faces have gone slack. They’re looking at me with absolute astonishment.

  Thomas is first to speak. ‘But, but, your work is nothing like Banksy. You’re all about bright colours and intricate faces . . . ’ I’m touched that he has paid so much attention to my work.

  ‘I think they just meant like Banksy, in the anonymous sense,’ I explain, embarrassed. ‘I left my name off the entry. Because – like Sophie says – I’m a chicken.’

  ‘You won?’ Sophie says at last. ‘You fucking WON?’ she shouts the last part and starts jumping up and down, screaming and hugging me. Thomas joins in and they both start whooping and shouting over each other.

  Thomas pauses, mid-jump, eyes big and round. ‘But the prize was huge, wasn’t it? Like, a huge pile of money?’

  ‘It’s a big grant, yes,’ I say carefully. ‘It’s to put towards my – what was the wanky phrase they used? – my “artistic endeavours”.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ says Sophie quietly. ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘I already know what I’m going to do with it,’ I say, grinning. ‘I’m going to invest in Elizabeth’s new gallery. I went to see it this morning. She’d already offered me a job as her assistant when it opens, and now I also get to be an investor! I got the call from the NAH organisers while I was with her this morning so I made the offer then and there. I’m going to help Elizabeth run it and then keep painting in my spare time. Can you believe it? This is my dream job. I’m going to be one of those smug twats who love their work.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Thomas says admiringly, and we all look at each other for a bit.

  When I finally leave the house, a very pissed off Jen shouts at me about being ‘no better than a dog left in a hot car’ and threatens to call the RSPCA, but she can’t bring my mood down. A huge weight has lifted. My friends are my friends again, and my career is about to take a huge step in the right direction. I can’t believe it’s finally coming together.

  There’s just one other person I know I need to say sorry to.

  ‘Ellie?’

  At the sound of his voice, all kinds of weird feelings pool in my stomach.

  ‘Hi Tim,’ I say, awkwardly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Ellie, what about you?’

  We haven’t spoken in about five months. I’ve never apologised for the way I treated him, never said sorry for the way things ended or the way I cut him off. We were everything to each other, and then we were suddenly nothing. It was awful. We exchanged a few emails about when he would sell our flat, but even that was put on hold for so long, I’d given up hope of it happening. And now, here I am, hiding in my dad’s room while the others play Boggle on the extended table downstairs. Here I am, speaking to Tim on the phone.

  I swallow. ‘I’m fine. Sorry to ring you like this, out of the blue.’

  ‘That’s OK, it’s nice to hear your voice,’ he says kindly. ‘Is everything OK? Is it about the flat? Because I actually—’

  ‘No, no,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I wanted to speak to you. It’s long overdue. I need to say sorry to you, Tim.’

  There’s silence on the line for a second, and I wonder if he’s still there.

  Then he speaks. ‘No, you don’t,’ he says quietly. And it’s in such a nice, kind voice that I want to start crying again.

  I really need to get this crying under control. I’m getting to be as bad as Dad.

  ‘I do,’ I say hurriedly, I need to get this out. ‘I behaved so, so horribly to you. I . . . ’

  How much do I tell him?

  I falter and there’s silence again.

  He says quietly, ‘You cheated on me. Yeah, Ellie, I know.’

  He does know. There. I feel a wave of crushing guilt and start to say sorry again, over and over.

  ‘Stop it, Ellie,’ he interrupts. ‘Look, it wasn’t a particularly great situation, but I’ve thought about it a lot over the last year, and it’s fine. I understand what you were going through. Neither of us handled it very well.’

  ‘You did, you were wonderful—’ I start to say and he cuts across me.

  ‘I wasn’t. Maybe you don’t remember. Your mum was ill and I kept making everything about me. You needed space to breathe – you kept asking for it – and I wouldn’t leave you alone. You couldn’t even nap without me insisting on lying there with you. I was so afraid of you leaving me, so afraid of you pulling away. I turned into an insecure, needy wreck, when it should’ve been you that got to hog all the emotion. You were pulling away and my behaviour just pushed you away even more. I’m so sorry.’

  Is that really how it happened? I don’t remember.

  ‘I still shouldn’t have behaved the way I did,’ I say slowly. ‘I should have talked to you, I never should’ve cheated.’

  ‘No,’ he agrees. ‘But it happens.’

  ‘So you don’t hate me?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘Of course I don’t hate you,’ he sighs. ‘Look, Ellie, we had a lovely relationship for a long time. But ultimately, it wasn’t right for us. I will always care about you and be there for you if you need me. I want you to be happy. Are you happy?’

  There’s that question again. I smile into the receiver. ‘I’m getting there actually,’ I say. ‘How about you, Tim?’

  ‘I am,’ he says, and I can tell he’s smiling too. ‘I met someone. It’s pretty new, but she’s great, we’re great.’

  ‘That’s really nice,’ I say, and I mean it. I want Tim to have a nice life. There are exes I only wish death and destruction for, but Tim is not one of them. I’m so glad I haven’t hurt him too badly. I’m so relieved he doesn’t hate me or blame me.

  We talk a bit more about our lives and what’s been happening. He cheers when I tell him about the art competition and I cheer when he tells me about being promoted at work. It’s so lovely to catch up, and I feel light headed that the guilt I’ve carried around with me this past year has lifted. I can get on with my life, I haven’t destroyed his.

  I spot the wall clock and realise I will be in trouble for missing the Boggle tournament.

  ‘I have to go, Tim,’ I say reluctantly. ‘This has been so great, thank you.’

  ‘Oh, before you go?’ he says. ‘I’m sorry this has taken so long, but, Ellie, the flat has finally sold.’

  17

  1.34 p.m. Saturday, 13 April

  Location: Back at Dad’s to celebrate my birthday. Intriguingly, he seems to have used the same yellow balloons I had out for his 60th. God knows how they’ve survived this long, and several are severely deflated, but they’re here, and it’s good to see them. Sophie, Thomas, Jen, Milly and Dad are all here too, standing awkwardly around the balloons, listening to Milly explain why she’s glad Marissa Cooper is dead.

  It’s my birthday. Thirty.

  I don’t mind turning thirty. I totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally totally don’t mind.

  Actually, I genuinely don’t. Everything’s looking pretty bloody rosy right now.
Jen and Milly are here with me and Dad, exactly where they should be. I don’t know what’s going to happen with her and Andrew, they’ve been talking on the phone a lot and he’s promised to cut down on his work – be a better husband and father – but Jen doesn’t seem convinced. I don’t know if things are going to work out between them, but she seems happier somehow. Marriage is complicated but so’s life, I guess. My friendship with Sophie and Thomas is back to being as brilliant as ever, and everything’s moving forward with work and the gallery. My latest meeting with Elizabeth on Monday was amazing. We are totally on the same page (art pun!) about how we see everything working and what we want to achieve. We’ve got a business plan and everything.

  So yes, thirty is looking pretty damn great. The only thing I’m a little bit sad about is that, with everything that’s been going on, I never got round to organising anything. When Jen heard this last night, she took it upon herself to post on my Facebook wall that since I was such a ‘sad loser’ we would be heading down to Dad’s favourite cocktail place, All Bar One, from six, should anyone wish to join us.

  Which is not humiliating at all. And it’s also not humiliating that seven whole people ‘liked’ it. Seven people including my dad, Jen – who makes it a policy to always ‘like’ her own posts on Facebook – and Milly, who’s just joined social media but don’t tell Grandpa, because she doesn’t want him to add her.

  So today and tonight are set to be fairly tame and family-based, but I don’t really mind. All the people I love most are going to be out with me; Dad, Jen, Sophie, Thomas. Although, not Milly, because duh, Alan the bouncer would have to draw the line somewhere. He can let the odd tube of Pringles through the net, but a six-going-on-seven-year-old is probably a bit much. She’s going to pop over to Candice and Peter’s for the night.

  But that’s OK too, because she’s here now, and she’s waited until last to proudly present me with a birthday card she’s made. It’s another pencil drawing she’s done. This time it’s of the two of us, sitting in Mum’s magic garden. There’s so much detail – even the peonies make an appearance – and I give my niece a little thank you squeeze. She’s really talented. Maybe I’ll do a whole exhibition of Milly’s drawings at my gallery. Or maybe I’ll just put it on my fridge.