Me, You and Tiramisu

by Charlotte Butterfield

  ‘But I didn’t think you’d want me to talk about you!’ Jayne blurted out between sobs.

  ‘So you just thought that you’d erase me from your past – Rachel won’t like me doing this, so I’ll just pretend that she doesn’t exist. Nice. Thanks for that. I’ve done nothing but listen to you go on and on about how you hate what’s happening, you despise the attention, you don’t like the women hanging around Will, you don’t like his new hair, or nails, or clothes–’

  Will interrupted, ‘You don’t like my hair or nails?’

  ‘And that’s the part you’re concerned about?’ Rachel said incredulously, swinging her attention to Will for a second before turning back on her sister. ‘And this is how you show your gratitude? By rewriting history without me in it?’

  ‘But that’s not how it was – she twisted everything I said.’

  ‘Again, that’s what journalists do, ‘ Will jumped in, ‘They don’t want a story where everyone pulls together and gets on with life while skipping hand in hand through a forest together – they want tales of deceit and heartbreak and grief, and that’s just what you gave them. Jesus, Jayne, you’re not a dim person, how could you be taken in so much? And what I don’t understand is that you approached her! It’s not even as though she caught you off-guard staggering home from a pub – you called her. Which makes you doubly stupid.’

  ‘Yes! Yes, I’m so stupid! I know I’m stupid, will you two just back off, just back off and leave me alone!’ Jayne ran out, the door shuddered as it slammed loudly behind her. She ran into their bedroom and pulled a small bag out from under the bed and stumbled over to her dressing table, frantically pulling out drawers, gathering up a few knickers and bras, some t-shirts, a couple of skirts. As an afterthought she also grabbed her passport. She kicked the wedges out of the way and knelt down in front of the wardrobe, digging away in the bottom of the cupboard until she found her old denim jacket and her flip flops. She then paused at the two framed pictures on her bedside table.

  One was of her and Rachel. They must have been about six or seven, standing in just their Care Bear swimsuits next to a half-filled paddling pool that still had a hose sticking out of it. Helen was taking the picture and her long shadow stretched across the grass to the side of where the girls were standing, grimacing into the sun, their little arms wrapped around each other’s waists. The other photo was of Will and her – he was giving her a piggy-back and she had her head thrown back laughing. He’d just been running through the park with her on his back, neighing like a horse and stamping his foot. She’d laughed so much she’d cried. That was before. Before he cared who saw. She hurriedly grabbed both frames and pressed them down on the top of her bag.

  ‘So that’s the answer, is it? You’re running away?’ Rachel came out of the kitchen as Jayne ran past with her holdall. ‘You’re running away, leaving us to deal with the aftermath.’

  Will stood in the doorway of the living room, ‘Jayne, what are you doing? Why have you got a bag?’

  ‘I just need to go away for a couple of days. I can’t handle this any more. I’m no good at it. I hate everything about this whole situation. I hate you being famous. There, I’ve said it. I hate you being famous. It stinks.’ The three of them stood in the hallway, each in the doorway of a different room. ‘I just need some space to think.’

  ‘Think about what? You screwed up. Twice. We’ll deal with it and move on. What’s there to think about? You’re being dramatic.’

  ‘As usual.’ Rachel added sullenly.

  ‘See, that’s just it!’ Jayne shrieked, ‘You can’t see that everything’s changed. We were so happy, and then it all started shifting, and I can’t deal with it. I can’t deal with people mad at me for loving you. I’m fed up with justifying to people all the time why you’re with me. I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to sneak out of restaurants through the kitchens. I don’t want my students asking me what it’s like to sleep with you. I don’t want parents whispering about me and pointing. I don’t want strangers taking pictures of me on their phones and uploading them onto Instagram for people to laugh about how awful I look. I don’t want strangers spitting at me in the street or telling me that I’m punching above my weight. And I don’t want a massive wedding with hundreds of people I don’t know in a ballroom that also does conferences. I just want to be us again. Jayne and Will and Rachel. Just us.’

  For about a minute no one spoke. It was the longest, most tranquil, minute that had ever existed in the flat when all three of them were at home and awake. Will and Rachel stood staring at Jayne, who felt at once exhausted and exhilarated after blurting out everything that had been making her chest feel tight for the last few months.

  She inhaled deeply and picked up her bag. ‘So I’m going to go away for a couple of days and clear my head. Work out what to do next.’ She hesitated for a moment, bag in hand. This was the part where Will would walk over to her and wrap his arms around her, bury her head in his chest and smooth her fizzing hair. Tell her in soothing tones that it was all going to be okay. That the rest of it meant nothing without her. That they could pretend the last year hadn’t happened and go back to the way it was.

  Instead he scuffed his shoe along the skirting board and said quietly, ‘Maybe that is for the best. Sort your head out and then we’ll talk.’

  He couldn’t have shocked her more if he had slapped her around the face. She had never expected him to agree that she should leave. They were meant to be opening a bottle of wine right now, the three of them bustling around the kitchen collecting a corkscrew and glasses to share a drink and work together on making this right.

  Jayne looked at Rachel, who shrugged sadly, ‘If that’s what you want, then do it.’

  No! Jayne wanted to shout, it’s not what I want, I want either of you, both of you, to tell me it’s all going to be okay and to stop being so ridiculous and to unpack my pathetic little bag. ‘Okay, then,’ she said with far more grace than she felt, ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’

  Bernard gave her a cheery wave as she rushed through the deli, before noting her white knuckles gripping a bag. He looked as though he was going to say something, but then decided against it, believing that other people’s business was just that. Jayne pushed through a couple of customers and jostled a pushchair out of the way of the door.

  She strode purposefully towards the station – purposefully but purposeless. She didn’t have any idea where she was going; she hadn’t planned any of this. Her first thought was to get to Helen, she’d make it all okay, but she knew there was nowhere for her to stay at Pine Grove. Helen’s room at the residential home was already crammed with the contents of her four-bedroom house. Glass cabinets filled with painted china figurines and easels with half-finished canvases of seascapes took over what little floor space there was. There was no room for a runaway granddaughter as well, much as Helen would have loved there to be.

  Abi. Abi would make this all okay. Jayne felt a pang of guilt that she’d done a pretty good job of alienating her best friend in the last couple of months since Dirk lit the first fuse. She’d pretended to forgive her, made all the right noises when pressed about it, promised that she didn’t blame her, but their friendship had certainly waned in recent weeks. Cordiality had replaced affection and the warmth that had characterised their friendship over the last decade had given way to politeness. She’d done a sterling effort in distancing herself from everyone, Jayne grimly recognised, as she scrolled through her phone for Abi’s mobile number. The second Jayne heard her friend’s soft Irish lilt say ‘hello’ she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She closed her eyes in relief and stood aside in the foyer of the station to let streams of commuters pass by. ‘Abi. I need your help. Can I come over?’

  ‘I’m back in Ireland for a couple of weeks, my love, is everything okay?’ Jayne vaguely remembered Abi telling her about her parent’s fortieth wedding anniversary party she was going to at the start of the summer holidays back in County Mayo.


  ‘Oh bugger. Sorry, I mean bugger for me, but that’s great for you. How’s the family? I bet your mum’s pleased to have you back.’

  ‘See, that’s what I love about you, Jayne Brady, you’re obviously going through something, yet you’re asking about my mam. She was just asking about you too, actually.’

  ‘Why, has she seen the paper?’

  ‘What paper?’

  ‘The Globe. The interview.’

  ‘No. What interview? Oh Christ, has your ma been talking again?’

  ‘No,’ Jayne admitted sheepishly, ‘This time it was me, and I’ve screwed up royally.’ Noticing a few furtive looks from people using the ticket machine she was leaning against, Jayne turned her back slightly, so she was huddled into the wall. Speaking in a low voice she added, ‘I was just calling to see if I could stay with you for a few days, but don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere else.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Oh dammit, I’ve got my spare key with me, otherwise I’d say you could camp out at my flat until I get back. Look, this might sound crazy, but why don’t you come here?’

  ‘To Ireland?’

  ‘Why not? You said you want to get away for a bit, and believe me, County Mayo is the last place any paparazzi are going to look for you.’

  ‘But disaster seems to be following me all over the place. I don’t want to inflict that on your poor family!’

  ‘Oh behave, like we care. Where are you now?’

  ‘Richmond station.’

  ‘Oh so you got quite far, then?’ Abi chuckled, ‘You can tell that you’re a novice at this. Okay, so get to Gatwick and get an Aer Lingus flight to Knock. Text me and tell me what time you get in and I’ll get Barney or Liam to pick you up.’

  ‘Knock as in knock knock who’s there?’

  ‘The very same. And don’t you even think about taking the piss out of our place names when you English have villages called Lower Soggy Bottom or something like that.’

  ‘You’re wonderful. Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t go getting all soppy on me, just get the flight. Then you can tell me all about your royal screw-up over a couple of bottles of moonshine.’

  Chapter 22

  Wow.’ Abi let out a low whistle, ‘You’re an eejit.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I know you know, or you wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘But I don’t know how to make it right,’ Jayne took a deep breath. ‘Or if I even want to.’

  ‘Of course you want to. You and Will are made for each other; you’re both mad as fruitbats.’

  ‘But I want the old Will, not Will Scarlet, ‘hello there, pretty lady, of course I’ll sign your breast’.’

  ‘Does he actually sign people’s breasts?’

  ‘Probably,’ Jayne pouted, taking a gulp of her wine. ‘Actually, probably not. But in my head he does.’

  ‘But that’s just it. In your head it’s so much worse. He’s still exactly the same as he always was, just more people know him now.’

  ‘He dyes his grey hair black.’

  ‘As do you.’

  ‘Touché. He has his nails filed by a man called Stefan.’

  ‘Lucky him. Next gripe?’

  Against Jayne’s will a little laugh escaped, ‘How do you do this?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This. Making me laugh when I want to cry.’

  ‘When you cry you make this face,’ Abi wrinkled her nose and crossed her eyes, ‘and so I’m going to do all I can to save the world from seeing that. Hang on, my phone’s buzzing.’ The name on the screen made Abi smile, ‘Hello there … yep … she’s here with me now … Yes, in Ireland. Just having a bottle of wine, talking about the situation in Palestine … Okay, yep, I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Was that Will?’ Jayne asked as soon as Abi had hung up.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Rachel?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Jayne’s heart started pounding and panicked she burst out, ‘It wasn’t a journalist? Do they know I’m here? Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insinuate that I’m talking to the press behind your back, Jayne Brady, or you and I are going to fall out big time.’ Abi stuck her nose in the air, feigning an air of indignance. ‘If you must know, it was Bernard.’

  ‘Bernard? As in Bernard who works in the deli Bernard?’

  ‘Yes. The very same.’

  ‘How does he have your number?’

  ‘How do you think? I gave it to him. We call each other a bit. Have the odd bite to eat. Glass of Merlot. Occasionally kiss each other.’

  ‘With Bernard?’

  ‘Yes, with Bernard.’

  ‘But you never said! Since when?’

  ‘To be fair, you’ve been pretty busy dealing with your own life to really notice what’s been under your nose in the last few months. I don’t blame you, it’s been manic for you, but Bernie called me after the whole Dirk debacle and was very sympathetic, took me out for a drink, then dinner, and what do you know, we’ve started sort of, well, seeing each other.’

  ‘You’re sleeping with Bernard!’

  ‘Well, not exactly, we’re taking it slowly.’

  ‘You. You’re taking it slowly? The woman who thinks taking it slowly means removing the dress before the pants?’

  ‘The very same. He’s revolutionised my thinking. I’m a new, purer woman because of him.’

  ‘Well, I’m lost for words. How could I not have seen this? I feel awful for not knowing! But you guys make such a great couple. I’m really happy for you.’

  ‘So, on the bright side, we won’t be needing our plus ones at your wedding, so that’s two less lamb shanks you need to budget for.’

  ‘If there even is a wedding now. After my outburst telling Will that I didn’t want the wedding he wants, I’m not sure it’s still on.’

  ‘Shush. Of course it’s still on. Just have another day or so here, breathe in the mountain air, let the dust settle, then go home to a man who adores you. Right, another bottle?’

  The next morning Jayne was woken by a gentle knock on the door followed by the entrance of a breakfast tray. ‘Morning, sleepyhead. I’ve brought you some tea and some orange juice.’

  ‘Mrs Sheeran, you’re a superstar, thank you so much, what time is it?’

  ‘Just gone ten.’

  ‘Oh my days, I don’t think I’ve slept that much in years! You must think I’m so lazy!’ Jayne said apologetically as she sat up in bed.

  Abi’s mum laughed as she opened the curtains and let the sun flood the room with light. ‘Not at all, obviously your body needed to rest. I’ve got some bacon grilling downstairs, so after your shower come down and have a bacon sandwich to set you up for the day.’

  ‘You’re a legend,’ Jayne smiled, ‘Thank you so much.’ She looked over to the other single bed in the room where Abi had slept. The covers were neatly doubled back and her pyjamas were folded on her pillow. ‘Where’s Abi?’ she yawned.

  ‘Gone to the newsagents on the corner for some milk and her da’s tobacco. She’ll be back soon. Come down when you’re ready.’

  As Jayne lathered her hair with the lemon-scented shampoo left in the tray of the shower she realised that she wasn’t feeling the same sense of unease that had plagued her for months. She’d been carrying an ever-present anxiety around with her like a trusty purse, and now it wasn’t really there any more. As much as her tantrum in the hallway at home had been fraught with tension at the time, she felt a huge sense of relief that she’d vocalised all the thoughts that had been eating away at her, keeping her awake at night and poisoning her days.

  Talking to Abi last night had helped so much too. She’d really missed her lately; no one else managed to blend such complete honesty with humour the way she did. Everything was going to be okay, she could feel it. She’d call Will this morning, sort it all out, stay for the party tonight and fly back in the morning.

  Jayne flung her head forward and wrapped her head
in a towel turban and draped the bath sheet that Abi’s mum had left folded on her bed – like they do in hotels – around herself before stealthily creeping along the hallway back to her room and picking up her phone. Will was usually like one of those blue-chip companies that promise to answer your call by the third ring, but today his mobile went straight to answer phone.

  ‘Um, hey, it’s me. The stupid one.’ She hoped this sounded tongue-in-cheek rather than just accusatory. Damn answer machines. ‘Um, just checking in. I’m okay. Not dead or anything.’ Why did she say that? That sounded as if she didn’t think he’d care. Of course he’d care. ‘I thought we should talk before something happens and we can’t any more.’ Shut up. Shut up, Jayne, now that sounds as though you’re actually going to top yourself. Or shoot him in the face. ‘I really do love you, you know, even though you’re, you know. And um, call me back when you get this. If you’re not too busy.’ Why? Why did she add that little dig at the end? No need for caustic little asides, she was meant to be being the bigger person here and instead had recorded a message that made her sound like a suicidal sociopath crippled with animosity. That’s the way to win back the man you love and adore.

  ‘Jayne, are you in there?’ Abi hammered on the bedroom door, ‘Are you nearly done? I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Yep, hang on a tick.’ Jayne tightened the towel around her before opening the door to her breathless friend. ‘Hey, what’s the hurry? Is the bacon burnt?’

  ‘Has Will called you? Where’s your phone?’

  ‘I’ve got it here. Why? What’s happened? Is something wrong? Is it Rachel? Or Helen?’

  ‘Jayne, stop,’ Abi placed a protective hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Everyone’s okay, but there was something on the front cover of a few of the papers, a picture.’

  ‘Of me? Where? At Matt Malloy’s? I didn’t see anyone? Oh God, did they take a picture of me playing the trumpet?’ After three bottles of rough house white the pair of them had taken advantage of the pub’s resident jazz trio being on a break at the bar to hop onto the makeshift stage and mime playing their instruments. ‘Why did I think that was a good idea? I blame you, you always get me into trouble like this. Oh well, could be worse. I was seconds away from picking up the horn, imagine the caption on that!’