More Than a Feeling

by Cate Woods

  Just then Craig reappears with two huge platters of deep-fried things.

  ‘Anything else I can get for you, ladies?’ he asks, although this is clearly aimed at Jessica.

  ‘No, we’re fine, thank you,’ replies Claris, in a tone that says, ‘please stop encouraging our friend and leave us alone’.

  ‘Well, okay then, enjoy!’ grins Craig, in a tone that says, ‘blimey, love, lighten up, I’m just having a bit of fun’. He winks at Jess and then, thankfully, disappears.

  Once he’s gone, Claris turns back to me. ‘You were saying, Annie?’

  I reach for a battered something and take a bite. It’s possibly chicken. Or fish.

  ‘Look, I know Luke’s behaved terribly,’ I sigh, ‘but we’re missing the bigger picture here, which is how I’d get by if I did leave him. I don’t have a job. I have nowhere to live. I have nobody to help with Dottie . . .’ I tail off, overwhelmed by the hopelessness of the situation. ‘I don’t know, perhaps I should just suck it up and go home . . .’

  Geoff leans over from the neighbouring table, gestures to whatever the word is for a prawn’s groin and bellows: ‘You can suck this up, love!’

  Miss World, the Heineken bottle and the others all fall about. Fiona jumps up with murder in her eyes, but Claris pulls her straight down again.

  ‘Ignore it,’ she mutters.

  Jess tops up my wine. ‘It’s early days, Annie, things will become clearer over the next few weeks. You’re still dealing with the shock – it’s not the right time to make any long-term decisions. But whatever you do decide, I hope you know that you’ll have all our support.’ The others smile and nod their agreement. ‘And in the meantime,’ she goes on, ‘we’ve been talking about how we can help you and Dot, and we’ve come up with a few ideas.’

  ‘They’re just suggestions,’ adds Claris. ‘But we thought it might help to have a few options when you’re deciding what to do.’

  I look around at my friends’ eager faces. ‘Okaaaay . . .’

  Jess wipes the grease off her fingers, and then puts both hands on the table as if meaning business.

  ‘Right, so you know that since the divorce I’ve been knocking around in that big house all on my own . . .’

  Fi shoots her a sceptical look. ‘All on your own?’

  ‘Okay, so occasionally the knocking might involve another party, but they’re usually gone before breakfast . . . Anyway, the point is that I’ve been thinking about getting a lodger, and I was actually going to advertise, but the lodgers I’d like best in the world would be you and Dot.’

  I feel a rush of love towards her. ‘Oh Jess, that’s so lovely of you, thank you. It’s the most wonderful offer and I’d love to stay, but I couldn’t possibly accept unless I was paying you rent. And apart from a little left over from Mum and Dad, I don’t have the money.’

  ‘I don’t want a bloody penny from you,’ she says smartly. ‘But we thought you might say that, so Fi has got a suggestion.’

  I turn to Fiona, who has a kid-at-Christmas grin on her face.

  ‘I’ve lined you up a job interview at the estate agents,’ she says. ‘You’re going to meet my boss on Wednesday next week!’

  I stare at her open-mouthed, then glance at Claris and Jess who have the same excited expression.

  ‘But I don’t know the first thing about selling houses.’

  Fiona waggles her finger at me. ‘Ah, but you won’t be selling houses, you’ll be photographing them. You know the photos you see on property details? Well, we’ve always used freelancers to take them, but they’re unreliable and the standard is variable, to put it mildly. My boss, Karl, wants to get our own in-house photographer, and I can’t think of a better choice than you, darlin’ girl.’

  My head is spinning; this is all moving so fast. ‘Fi, I . . .’

  ‘It’s only part-time and the hours are flexible,’ she continues. ‘And I’ve already done such an excellent sales job on you with Karl that I reckon the job’s yours if you want it.’ She sits back, folds her arms and grins. ‘What d’ya reckon, gorge? Ready to get the ol’ camera out again?’

  I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed at how thoughtful they’ve all been, and I really don’t want to disappoint them, but how can I explain how . . . useless I feel right now?

  Since getting together with Luke I’ve often thought about getting another job – Barb would be utterly scornful that I’m now a ‘kept woman’ – but the more time that has passed, the less confident I’ve become, and now the prospect of putting myself back out there again fills me with fear. I hate to admit it, but it’s just been easier to stay at home and play Annie the housewife for Luke, especially because that’s what he’s wanted. And now, with Dot to think about and Luke having done the dirty, the idea of starting a new job feels like I’m standing at the foot of Everest ready to have a crack at the summit in trainers and a Pac-a-mac. Plus, if the thought of getting a job makes me feel sick with worry, the thought of leaving Dot with a stranger makes me even queasier.

  ‘I’m not sure, Fi,’ I say eventually. ‘It is an amazing opportunity, but what would I do with Dot? She’s still so tiny. And childcare is expensive . . .’

  ‘Well, Luke will need to step up, obviously,’ says Jess. ‘She’s his daughter, too, the very least that wanker can do is help pay for a childminder.’

  ‘Or maybe you could take her with you on jobs,’ suggests Fi with the blithe innocence of the child-free. ‘Just strap her in one of those baby carrier thingummies and you’ll be grand.’

  My head is spinning and it feels like my heart is racing. I want to be strong for Dot, but it feels like my life is spiralling out of control. I’m only just coping at being a full-time mum, how on earth would I fit in a job as well?

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ I say, chewing my lip.

  Claris puts her arm around me and pulls me towards her. ‘Annie, we know how tough it’s been for you since your parents died, and now there’s this horrible situation with Luke. You’ve had a really hard time of it. I know this won’t be the easiest option, but I really think this job could be just the thing you need to get yourself back on track, to get some of that old Annie fight back. We all believe in you, but you need to start believing in yourself too.’ The girls murmur their agreement. ‘You can still go back to Luke if that’s what you decide, but if you take this job you’ll go back to him on your own terms, for the right reasons, rather than just because it made sense financially. In fact, it would probably be a positive thing for your relationship. And we’ll be here to support you every step of the way.’

  ‘And after photographing supermodels,’ says Jess, ‘taking pictures of kitchens will probably be a walk in the park.’

  Fi nods enthusiastically. ‘Seriously, it’ll be a piece of piss for you, love.’

  ‘Will you just meet with Fi’s boss and see what he has to say?’ asks Claris.

  ‘He’s a twat, but a harmless one,’ adds Fiona.

  I look around the table at my three dear friends who are all focused on me, eyes filled with expectation, waiting for my reply. It’s obvious that they’ve spent a huge amount of time and effort thinking of ways to help me; in the circumstances, really, what else can I say?

  ‘Alright.’ I smile, hoping I’m hiding the panic that’s bubbling up inside me. ‘I’ll go for the interview.’

  But as they all hug me, and tell me how brave I’m being and how much they love me, a little voice in my head pipes up: Don’t worry, Annie, you don’t have to do this. You can just make your excuses nearer the time.

  10

  Jess lives in a huge Victorian villa on a tree-lined avenue just off Streatham High Road, a two-mile stretch of traffic and takeaways that’s famous for being the longest high street in Europe. It doesn’t quite have the charm of neighbouring Clapham, but fans of peri-peri hot wings will find much to delight here.

  When Jess and her then-husband Leo bought the house three years ago, it was what estate agents would call ‘a c
omplete blank canvas’: in other words, a rat-infested, damp-riddled, barely habitable dump. Jess and Leo started renovations immediately, but as the months went by, the state of the house became inversely proportional to the state of their marriage: as they lovingly restored the rooms, so their relationship crumbled. Shortly after the builders moved out, so Leo did too – although to be fair it wasn’t really the house’s fault that their marriage didn’t work out. That had more to do with the fact that they’d got married during a drunken game of ‘Truth or Dare’ while on a long weekend in Las Vegas.

  Anyway, Jess kept the house in the divorce and her and Leo are still good mates, so it’s all ended sort of happily ever after. And despite its inauspicious beginnings, it is a lovely house: light, airy and with plenty of room to accommodate a lost soul and her baby daughter until she works out what the hell she’s going to do with her life.

  Jonathan and Tabitha drive us over to Streatham on Sunday morning. I’ve still only got the minimum of possessions that I grabbed when I left, but – thanks to the sheer amount of equipment babies seem to need these days – Jon’s VW Polo is packed to the roof, and Dot and I are wedged in amongst our stuff on the backseat. It’s a good job I left the nappy sanitiser bin and baby bath behind, otherwise we’d have needed a transit van.

  ‘You will come and see us every weekend, won’t you?’ Tabby’s face is etched with concern as she spins round to look at me. ‘And if you need us we’ll be here like a shot, okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dottie and I will be absolutely fine.’ I flash her an encouraging smile from behind the bottle steriliser and breast pump on my lap. ‘It’s going to be an adventure!’

  But although I’m putting on a brave face – I’ve already caused my pregnant sister more than enough worry, after all – how I wish I could stay in Jon and Tabby’s spare room for a while longer. As much as I love Jessica, the prospect of moving in with her feels like I’m being set adrift in the middle of an ocean with dark clouds gathering and no land in sight. At Tabby’s I could hide away and let her deal with all the crap, but now I’m going to have to start taking responsibility and making some big and scary decisions – and the consequences of those decisions aren’t just going to affect me, they’re going to have a lifetime’s impact on Dot.

  As if reading my mind, Tabitha asks: ‘Have you given any more thought to when you might meet up with Luke? He texted me again last night, Annie. He’s desperate to see you both.’

  At the mention of Luke’s name, my insides clench in fury. He’s been trying to contact me every day, leaving rambling, soul-baring voicemails and sending emails and messages; for somebody who doesn’t usually ‘do’ emotions, he’s being awfully chatty. I still can’t bring myself to respond – the only thing I want to know from him is why why why, and so far his attempts at explaining just make me feel worse – but I do know that we need to talk. For Dot’s sake, if nothing else.

  ‘It’s not going to get any easier the longer you leave it,’ adds Tabby, her tone gentle.

  ‘I do know that,’ I say, ‘but at the moment it’s working out quite well for me pretending that Luke’s been abducted by aliens and is undergoing painful and humiliating experimentation in their spacecraft.’

  Tabby raises an eyebrow.

  I sigh, defeated; she’s right, of course. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll send him a text, see if he can meet up this week.’

  ‘Atta girl.’ Tabby smiles. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think Luke’s torturing himself far worse than any alien with an anal-probe could do. And you never know, talking things through with him might even make you feel better . . .’

  Yeah, and Sigrid and I might become best buddies, I think – but keep it to myself.

  Jess answers the door dressed in a silky, lace-trimmed robe of the kind rarely seen outside Sharon Stone movies.

  ‘Hello, lodgers!’ She holds out her arms. ‘Gimme that delicious baby.’

  Dot is due a feed and is starting to grumble, but I pass her over. ‘Thank you so much for this, Jess. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you having us to stay.’

  She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Honestly, Annie, I’m really looking forward to having you both here.’ She looks over my shoulder, blowing kisses at the others who are unpacking our things from the car. ‘Tabby, hi darling! And the gorgeous Jonathan, so lovely to see you . . .’

  I peer past Jessica into the house. ‘You’re looking very . . . boudoir, Jess. Do you have, um, company?’

  ‘Course not! But, you know – standards, angel. You never know who might turn up.’

  Dot has now progressed to full-on crying, and Jess holds her out to me with an apologetic grimace. ‘I think it’s malfunctioning.’

  ‘She’s just hungry,’ I say, raising my voice to be heard above the wailing. Meanwhile, the heap of baby paraphernalia in her stylish hallway is growing; I eye our clutter anxiously.

  ‘Jess, are you quite sure that Dottie and I won’t be in the way?’

  She furrows her brow as best she can. ‘In the way of what?’

  ‘Of . . . well, you know . . . all the shagging.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about cramping my style, love, I’m going to put you in the attic, well out of the way of any random willies.’ She beckons us through the hallway. ‘Right, Tabby, Jonathan, everyone come through to the kitchen, I have coffee and croissants, and champagne for those of us who aren’t lactating, pregnant or driving.’ She gives a little tinkly laugh. ‘Oops, just me then!’

  After the others have gone, Jess helps me set up Dot’s cot in her attic conversion and arrange the toys that we’ve brought with us. Once we’ve finished, the room looks wonderfully cheery: sunshine is pouring through the skylight and Jess has thoughtfully dotted jam-jars of daffodils around the place. We’ve got far more space here than we did at my sister’s – plus an en-suite bathroom filled with lovely toiletries (Jess works in PR and gets tons of freebies) – but I still can’t shake this feeling of unease. Am I doing the right thing bringing Dot here? Perhaps it would have been better to move back home, so I could sort things out with Luke. As much as I hate him right now, as the days pass by a tiny part of me is starting to miss him, too – and Tabby’s right, I can’t hide from him forever. Before I can change my mind, I dig out my phone and send him a text, telling him that Dot and I are now staying at Jessica’s and asking if he wants to meet up one evening this week to talk. A reply appears almost immediately:

  Annie, I’m so glad to hear from you! Could we possibly meet at home during the day so I can spend some time with Dottie too? I’ll book it off work as holiday. Tuesday good for you? I’m missing you both so much xxx

  Christ, Tuesday is the day after tomorrow. Well, better to get it over with, I suppose. I bash out a curt reply, telling him that Tuesday will be fine. What with this and the spectre of the job interview, it’s shaping up to be quite a week . . .

  *

  Later that afternoon, while Dot naps in her cot and Jess goes to meet a friend for lunch, I lie down on my new bed. I’m exhausted: the emotional turmoil is taking its toll, and in addition, I’ve got a nagging toothache. Perhaps all my negativity is using my top right molar as a conduit? I pop some painkillers and am finally drifting off to sleep when a knock at the front door jolts me awake again. I lie there, hoping that whoever it is gives up and goes away, but moments later there’s another knock, more insistent this time. Damn. I better not ignore it, as I’m sure that would be poor lodger etiquette, so I pull on a hoodie and trudge downstairs. I’ve been avoiding mirrors as much as possible, but Jess’ house is full of them, and I catch glimpses of myself as I pass by. I look like the ‘after’ photo on those posters that warn of the damage caused by long-term crystal meth use. I just hope that it’s not Luke at the door, hoping for an early reunion, because if he sees me like this he’ll run straight back into Sigrid’s lithe arms faster than you can say methamphetamine hydrochloride.

  But it’s not Luke. A woman with sleek brown hair is standing on the do
orstep, two large cases at her feet, smiling like she’s presenting the weather on breakfast telly. She’s wearing so much make-up that I imagine she must get through at least two tubes of mascara a week – one for each tarantula-lashed eye – and her lips are plumped up like two glossy chipolatas.

  ‘Are you Annie?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, trying to figure out who she might be. ‘Hello, er . . . ?’

  The woman holds out her hand and I shake it, feeling a rush of shame at the state of my chewed, dirty nails next to her flawlessly manicured talons.

  ‘I’m Mara,’ she says, then tips her head to one side and gives me a long look up and down. ‘Hmmm, looks like we’re gonna have a busy afternoon!’

  I blink, confused. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid Jess isn’t here at the moment.’

  ‘No probs, hon, we can get started without her.’ Mara picks up her bags and walks past me into the hallway.

  ‘Um, what exactly are we getting started on?’

  ‘On you, silly!’ Mara gives a little laugh. ‘Did Jessica not mention I was coming? She booked me to cheer you up.’

  For a horrible moment I wonder if Mara might be here to give me some sort of ‘sexy lady-massage’ – after all, one of Jess’ favourite sayings is that we’re all just a couple of vodkas away from being lesbians – but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t do that to me. At least, I hope she wouldn’t.

  ‘She warned me that I’d have my work cut out,’ Mara goes on, ‘and it looks like she wasn’t lying!’

  I just stand there like the sack of potatoes (and not cute little Italian ones) that I currently so closely resemble. ‘I’m sorry, Mara, but what is your work exactly?’

  ‘Waxing, nails, hair, tan, brows, lashes . . .’ She reels off the list, checking them off on her fingers as she goes, then drops her voice and leans in towards me. ‘I can do Botox and fillers too, although that’s strictly hush-hush, what with me not being a doctor and that!’ She giggles again. ‘So, what shall we start with? Jessica booked me for the whole afternoon, so we’ll probably have time to do the lot. Total makeover, yeah?’