“And the thing is,” Jack went on, “I’d been starting to realise, about from when we got to Sydney, that this whole travel thing wasn’t working out for me. I was missing home, and the flat, and my mates and my job, and you, and even the sodding rain. And now I was basically fucked, with no money to pay for a place to stay or even anything to eat, and I was starving but at the same time I was absolutely sick of foreign food.”
I’d barely heard most of what he said, only the bit about missing me. I could feel my heart beating much faster.
“So what did you do?” I said.
“Liv still had her purse on her,” Jack said. “So she wasn’t as completely screwed as I was, and she had her passport too. But I’d had enough. Like I said, I was knackered and starving, and…”
“And covered in baby puke,” I said.
“Exactly,” Jack said. “Anyway, there was a McDonald’s right there, so I said, let’s go and get something to eat and I can get cleaned up in the toilet there, and then let’s find the British Embassy and get ourselves on a flight home pronto.”
“And?” I said.
Jack finished his drink and said, “I could do with another. How about you?”
I looked at my glass and realised it was empty. “Yes, please.”
I watched him make his way through the crowd to the bar, tall and strong and familiar. He’d gone to the salon, not knowing that I’d be there, presumably to see Mum and ask her about me. He said he’d missed me. I thought of the nights I’d spent lying in my bed at Hannah and Richard’s house, longing for him and later crying over him. I thought of the dreams I’d had for our future together – dreams he’d shattered so casually. I remembered how it had felt when I saw the photo of him and Olivia together on the beach, the heart drawn in the sand around their smiling faces. But before I could make sense of any of it in my head, he came back.
“There we go,” he said, putting our drinks on the table together with a packet of cheese and onion crisps and a packet of pork scratchings. He ripped them open and crunched on a handful. “So good. Oh my God. Snack of champions. Anyway, where was I?”
“You were going to go to McDonald’s,” I said.
“Right,” Jack said. “But Liv was like, did I think she’d travelled halfway round the world to eat a fucking Big Mac, and anyway, in case I’d forgotten, she’s been a vegetarian for ten fucking years.”
“Like anyone who’s a vegetarian ever lets you forget it,” I said.
Jack laughed. “I know, right? But anyway, I was starting to get pissed off too, and I started shouting back, and the next thing we were having this massive, screaming row right in the middle of Santiago bus station. I said it wasn’t my fault some random tea leaf had stolen our bags and she was being a total bitch to blame me for it. I said I’d had enough of travelling and I’d had enough of eating weird crap food that looked like a dose of campylobacter waiting for a place to happen and I’d had enough of sleeping in flea-pit youth hostels, and I wanted to go home.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said I was being pathetic and how could I let a little setback (seriously, being stranded in South America with all my stuff gone – a little setback?) put me off, and had I never heard of travel insurance? And just because we weren’t in the Castle fucking Mall didn’t mean there weren’t these things called shops. And that stuff is just stuff but experiences are irreplaceable, and she was going to head for the market because she’d read about this stall that did amazing fungus salad, and I could come or not as I pleased.”
“So what did you do?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
Jack sighed. “I said that if that was the way she felt, clearly she didn’t give a shit about me and as far as I was concerned it wasn’t going to work out between us, because I was sick of her moods and her selfishness. And she said she was sick of me being a deadweight and whinging about everything, and… well… that was it, really. I mean, we carried on shouting at each other for a bit, but there wasn’t anything much more to say. And then she gave me some of her pesos and went off to wherever she was going.”
“Poor you,” I said, although I was beginning to feel a grudging admiration for Olivia.
“It wasn’t too bad really,” Jack said. “I got on the phone to my insurance company – they hadn’t nicked my phone, thankfully – and they sorted things out, and I booked myself into the Hilton and spent a few days watching Game of Thrones and eating ham sandwiches from room service, and then my new passport was ready so I came home. And I’ve been home for two weeks now and quite honestly it’s the best thing ever.”
“And Olivia?” I said.
“I guess round about now she’ll be trekking in Patagonia.” Jack made a face. Then he said, “Look, Gemma, there’s a few things I need to say to you.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“All this – basically everything I’ve done for the past few months – has been the most massive mistake. The travelling thing – I mean, bits were all right. But I’m just not cut out for it. I was miserable most of the time. I should have been really excited by it all but I wasn’t – I was just homesick. And I guess that’s why Liv and me kind of got together. I know it sounds stupid but I was lonely.”
“Right,” I said.
“And Liv – she’s such a good mate. Well, she was. I don’t know if she’s going to be any more. But as a girlfriend – there was just no way it was going to work. She’s so full-on. She’s not like you – you’re so… I don’t know, so kind of restful to be with. Right from the beginning, me and her had rows. We never rowed, really, did we?”
“I guess not,” I said. But I was thinking, That’s because I never disagreed with you, and I always went along with what you wanted.
“I watched all your videos,” Jack said, looking down into his glass. “Even the ones where you put on make-up. Even the one where you massively slagged me off. That made me feel like a pile of crap.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, then hated myself for saying it.
But Jack said, “Don’t be sorry. They’re really cool. You look really beautiful in them.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Jack said, “So, listen, this Charlie dude. Is he actually your boyfriend? Because I read on some forum that he wasn’t really – that is was just, like, a set-up thing.”
I said, “No, it’s real. He is my boyfriend. Although I’m not sure whether he’s going to be for much longer, to be honest.”
Jack let out a long, heavy sigh that created ripples in the surface of his drink. Then he said, “So, do you want to come back to mine?”
It was the moment I’d longed for; the words I’d dreamed of hearing, night after night, lying in my bed nursing my broken heart. Just a few months before, there would have been no decision to make – I’d have fallen into Jack’s arms, overflowing with relief that he and Olivia were over, that he’d come back, that he’d chosen me.
But my heart wasn’t broken any more. And even if Charlie and I were still together – and I was far from sure about that – this wasn’t about Charlie. It wasn’t even about Jack, not really. Because I understood now that Jack hadn’t actually chosen me – not in any meaningful sense. For Jack, this was just about a return to the way things had been before, back when he had his quiet, easy life – however frustrating he found it – his lucrative, easy job and his undemanding, easy girlfriend. Jack had seen the world, but it hadn’t changed him. I’d stayed behind, but maybe I hadn’t stayed the same, after all.
I said, “I don’t think so, actually. Mum was going to get a takeaway for us. I haven’t seen her in a while and we need to catch up. But thanks for the drinks. I’m glad you’re home safe.”
And I kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the pub.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hi everyone!
So, I’m doing something a bit different in today’s video – but seasonally appropriate! Because at this time of year we all put aside our natural looks and can
the contouring and go all-out… Whatever. All-out Goth, all-out witch – some of the other vloggers I admire, whose make-up skills leave me standing, have put together totally amazing special-effects looks, which I’ve linked to down below. But quite honestly, these are way beyond my limited ability, so I’ve gone for something quite simple, and, if I do say so myself, quite wearable. Yes, it’s Halloween, and yes, I’m going to a party dressed as Wednesday Addams. Here’s how I created the look.
There was a delicious smell of hot sugar and cinnamon drifting up the stairs. Hannah had been baking Halloween cookies, cut out in the shapes of bats, witches, spiders and cats and iced in lurid shades of purple, green and orange, as well as classic black, obviously.
I would have thought that, post-Richard, the last thing she would have wanted to do was revert to her domestic goddess ways, but she seemed to take comfort from cooking and housework. With Richard gone – he was staying with his brother in Dagenham, Hannah said – the house felt like a different place, a happier place. Even though we all knew that it couldn’t carry on indefinitely, that Hannah was only managing to make the repayments on the mortgage thanks to the low interest rate and Amy’s and my rent, Hannah had said nothing about needing to sell just yet. In fact, the only sign that her life had fundamentally changed was that, when I went up to her bedroom that morning to ask if she’d like a cup of tea, I found all the furniture dragged out on to the landing, and Hannah pasting totally gorgeous wallpaper, covered in lush green plants and pink flamingos, on to the walls.
“Because I can,” she said simply. “Richard was all about the neutral decor and resale value, but fuck that. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to stay in the house, now, but I’m going to enjoy it while I can.”
It was the first time I’d ever heard her swear. I would have given her a high five, except she didn’t have any free hands.
Now she, Amy, Kian and a few of their friends were downstairs in the kitchen, bagging up Hannah’s cookies in anticipation of groups of trick-or-treating children and concocting lethal purple cocktails. I wished I could stay in with them, but tonight was the annual Ripple Effect Halloween party, and the invitation had implied that attendance was not just expected, but obligatory.
I added a bit more chalk-white powder to my face, topped up my blueish-pink lipstick, and gave my pigtails a tweak. In the bottle-green gym tunic I’d found last weekend in Mum’s loft (thank you, secondary school, for your utterly hideous uniform) and the prim, pointy-collared white blouse I’d spotted in a charity shop when I was dropping off a load of unwanted free samples, I was fairly confident that I looked the part.
Unfortunately, I didn’t feel even slightly like going to the party.
I hadn’t spoken to Charlie for more than a week. He’d texted, called, emailed and left loads of voice and WhatsApp messages, but I hadn’t returned them. I didn’t know what to say to him. But I was going to have to make my mind up sharpish, because there was no way he and Gus, Ripple Effect’s second-most illustrious clients, weren’t going to be in attendance tonight.
I put my top-up supplies of make-up, my keys, camera and mobile into my bag, checked my face one last time, and sighed. If Stanley had been there, I would have told him he was in charge of guarding my room for the night and I’d be back soon, but he wasn’t.
Amy was frying chipolata sausages in the kitchen, Kian standing behind her inhaling their aroma and admiring her cleavage in her black batwing top. Hannah and her friend Karen were arguing about whether the cocktails needed more Ribena or more vodka – “More vodka, obviously,” Hannah was saying as I walked in.
“My God, Gemma, you look amazing,” Amy said. “Your legs in that outfit…”
“Have a drink,” Kian said, passing me a plastic cup full of what was basically purple vodka.
“Group selfie!” Hannah said, and we all clustered round while she took one.
The door knocker crashed and a voice called, “Trick or treat!” as menacingly as you can if you’re five.
I said, “I have to go. Have a fun night.” And, my feet feeling even heavier than they should have done in my clumpy lace-up flatforms, I made my way to the station.
I remembered how I’d felt arriving at Charlie and Gus’s launch party all those months ago – how out of place and apprehensive. Now, I was turning up at a different achingly cool cocktail bar in a different part of town, wearing different clothes. Then, it had been high summer; now, a raw wind was battering drops of rain against my face and the pavements were coated with a slippery layer of fallen leaves.
Inside, though, it was much the same. The room was crowded with people – not in normal party clothes this time, obviously, but dressed up as sexy witches, sexy vampires, sexy ghouls – you get the picture. My Wednesday Addams outfit, assembled as it was from random things I already owned or had bought at minimum cost, looked frumpy and amateurish by contrast, but I didn’t particularly care.
I made my way through the crowd to the bar, stopping to say hi to a few of Charlie and Gus’s friends who I’d met at the karaoke evening. Everyone was as casually friendly as they’d been then. Everyone still had their phones or cameras out all the time, filming themselves and each other. Everyone knew each other, although of course now I knew lots more of them than I had before, and even more who I didn’t know recognised me.
“Gemma! SparklyGems!” said a sexy nun. “How are you? I just love your channel. Where’s Charlie?”
“Not sure,” I said. “I expect he and Gus will be along later. They’ve been really busy with the new puppy.”
“Taylor,” she said. “Oh my God, I just adore her. So cute!”
“Isn’t she?” I said.
“Hi Gemma!” said a guy with glitter all over his face, who I supposed had come as Edward from Twilight. “I’m Perry, we haven’t met but I just adore your vlog. I do make-up tutorials too, we should do a collab sometime.”
“That would be great! I just love your channel too, I watch it all the time,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t ask me about anything specific.
“Hi Gemma,” said Maddie (sexy zombie). “Amazing to see you! Your channel’s doing so great – congratulations!” She raised her bottle of fizzy water to clink against my glass, but I didn’t have one.
“And yours too,” I said. “I just loved that thing you did the other day, with the raw…”
“The raw brownies?” Maddie said, inadvertently coming to my rescue. “Oh my God, how good were they? It’s amazing what you can do with dates, linseed and cacao. They’re so filling, I could only eat, like, half a one and I was totally stuffed.”
“I bet you were,” I said, looking enviously at her tiny, toned frame and telling myself for the millionth time that I really, really must join a gym and go to it occasionally.
“Where’s Charlie?” Maddie asked, and I repeated my line about the puppy.
Then I said, “Anyway, it’s so amazing to see you. I’m just going to grab a drink – we’ll catch up later, right?”
“Of course!” Maddie said. She took a selfie of us and so did I, and then I went off to find the bar. The effects of Hannah’s vodka cocktail were wearing off, and I knew that my only hope of getting through the evening was to drink and drink, and then possibly drink a bit more.
The bar was draped in black netting, glinting with green and purple fairy lights. A flock of bats were suspended above it, lit by more fairy lights. The barmen were dressed as gargoyles, their faces and bare chests smeared with grey and green make-up. I joined the throng and waited to be served.
“Here you go,” one of the barmen said. “That’s one Bloody Mary, one absinthe sour and one Galliano Old Fashioned.”
“Er… I ordered an Aperol spritz and a gin and tonic,” said a sexy skeleton.
“You did? I’m so sorry. Whose are these… anyway. I’ll get those for you right away. They’re on the… Oh, wait. Everything’s on the house anyway.”
I started to laugh. Only one person in the world was that inept
at serving drinks, and no amount of gargoyle make-up could disguise those brilliant aquamarine eyes.
“I’ll have the Bloody Mary,” I said. “And the absinthe sour. And the other thing, although it sounded totally minging.”
“Hello, Gemma,” Raffy said. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me – nothing like as surprised as I was to see him.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I said. “How are you? Where have you been? You don’t write, you don’t call…” I hoped my face didn’t give away how many times I’d scrolled to his number on my phone, my finger hovering over the green button – then changed my mind.
“I’m working, obviously,” Raffy said. “Deploying my legendary service skills, as you can see. Here you go, one Aperol spritz, one vodka and tonic.”
“But I ordered…” the sexy skeleton began. Then Raffy smiled at her, and she said, “That’s brilliant, thank you.”
I sipped the Bloody Mary, hoping its rightful owner wouldn’t come and snatch it from my hands, and watched as Raffy took another order, got it right this time, then took another and got it wrong. The crowd waiting for cocktails was showing no sign of thinning. The Bloody Mary was finished, so I started on the Galliano Old Fashioned. I was right – it was minging.
Raffy said, over the rattle of ice in his cocktail shaker, “Look, it’s crazy here. I’m on a break at nine – meet me outside?”
I looked at my watch and saw it was half past seven. “Okay,” I said.
I spent the next hour shamelessly propping up the bar, like one of the old soaks who seem to be permanent residents in the Bearded Clam, watching Raffy mess up people’s cocktail orders and drinking what seemed to be a bottomless glass of Prosecco – as soon as it was almost finished, Raffy would produce a bottle from the fridge and top it up, without me having to ask (which was probably just as well, I thought, because if I had asked I’d have ended up with Bacardi and Coke or something), and every time he topped it up, he’d smile at me and I’d smile back.
The Truth About Gemma Grey: A feel-good, romantic comedy you won't be able to put down Page 26