by Jemma Forte
‘Good one. Now, Max, do you think we should stop Eadie and Polly singing now? Otherwise I’m just worried Jennifer might actually wish she was back in a coma again.’
‘Oh god yes yes,’ agreed Max, jolting back to the here and now and realising how right she was. The caterwauling was pretty terrible and Jennifer was looking glassy-eyed, dazed and a bit exhausted. ‘And excellent sick joke by the way. Jen would approve.’
‘Thanks,’ said Karen.
EPILOGUE
Six Months Later
Karen, Pete and Suzy, and Jennifer’s parents, were on their way over for Sunday lunch. It was early December and the kind of day you wouldn’t go out in unless you absolutely had to, or unless someone else was cooking you a lovely leg of lamb and an apple crumble. The house was full of the smell of cooking, the girls were playing peacefully in the front room with their Play-Doh and Max was working out what sort of wine they should have with lunch and generally pottering about the kitchen pretending to be helpful. From the outside looking in, the scene was one of total domestic bliss. Which is precisely why no one should ever make assumptions about what’s going on in anyone’s household other than their own.
Jennifer may have looked content, but as she peeled and chopped carrots, what she was actually wondering was whether or not anybody would be able to hear her if she were to turn the volume on her iPod right up, go into the utility room and scream at the top of her lungs.
As she plunged the carrots into boiling water, Max slid up behind her and kissed her neck. ‘Hello, beautiful.’
She resisted a strong urge to elbow him away. Physical contact between them still made her feel tense.
‘OK?’
‘Yeah, you?’
‘I’m good,’ Max said sincerely. ‘I’m just happy that you’re so much better.’
‘Good.’
‘…and I think you and me are heading in the right direction aren’t we?’ he added hesitantly. ‘In fact I think you should try sleeping in our bed tonight.’
‘Maybe,’ said Jennifer, nudging him away. The constant effort he was making almost repelled her. She bent down to open the oven to check on the meat. ‘This needs to rest,’ she said, swatting away clouds of steam with a tea towel.
‘You’re not going to leave me are you?’
Jennifer’s stomach churned. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said just as the doorbell rang.
Max looked so worried and full of despair that for a brief second Jennifer wanted to give him a hug and to tell him it would be OK. But she didn’t. Instead the two of them manfully rearranged their expressions so no one would have a clue what was really transpiring.
Lunch was a raucous, slightly chaotic affair. Jennifer had to eat her meal one-handed with a fork because Eadie insisted on sitting on her lap throughout. Ever since the accident she’d demanded constant affection. Not that Jennifer minded in the least. She couldn’t get enough of her children either. Their physical presence was a comfort, especially as she was unable to shake off the feeling she’d had for months now. That she was standing on the edge of a cliff trying to decide whether or not to jump.
After the meal, people slunk away from the table to go and sit in the lounge until finally Karen and Jennifer were the only ones left. As they half-heartedly cleared away, and whole-heartedly picked at cheese and drank wine, Karen decided to tackle something she’d been meaning to bring up for ages.
‘How much has Max told you about when you were in the coma?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Jennifer, grabbing a clean tea towel from the drawer. ‘He’s mainly filled me in on how uncomfortable his bed was. Why?’
‘OK,’ said Karen, idly wiping a drip of custard from the side of a jug with her finger before sucking it off. ‘It’s just there was one night, you had a seizure. I was there.’
‘Oh god, you poor thing. I don’t think I did know that. That must have been horrific.’
‘Wasn’t the best night of my life,’ admitted Karen drily. ‘But anyway, the point is, you said a word out loud.’
‘Did I? Was it “make-up bag”?’
‘That’s three,’ snorted Karen, laughing.
‘Vodka?’
‘No you arse. You said Joe.’
Jennifer immediately stopped grinning. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. Jen, have you met someone called Joe? Because things between you and Max seem very strained.’
‘No,’ said Jennifer, arms suddenly slack in the sink which was full of washing up and soapy suds. ‘That’s so weird. Max also told me I said that name one night.’
Karen looked worried.
‘…and this is going to sound odd, but it’s like…somewhere along the line I have known someone called Joe because every time I hear the name, I honestly want to burst into tears. It’s so frustrating. I feel like my brain knows but can’t tell me. But then I’ve had it a bit since the accident with other things.’
‘Had what?’
Jennifer struggled to put it into words. ‘I’m not sure really. Just this feeling that I’m really lucky to have you in my life for instance and…like…I don’t know…like I’ve lost things. Like when I hear that name, or sometimes when I look at the kids I get this huge pang of emotion. I don’t know. I’m probably going mad.’
She looked so unsettled that Karen got up to give her a hug. ‘Come here you.’
Jennifer abandoned the washing up, dried her hands on a tea towel and took her up on her offer at which point she started to sob quietly into her friend’s shoulder.
Karen held her at arm’s length and looked stricken. ‘Jen, what the hell is going on? Tell me.’
‘I just don’t think I can forgive him,’ said Jennifer, eyes full of tears and panic as she finally confessed what she hadn’t had the courage to tell anyone else. ‘I wish I could because I look at the girls and this house…Then I think about the life we have, the friends and how this is my family. But I’m just not sure I can do it any more. Part of me hates him and I don’t know if I’m meant to be with him any more. I nearly died, Karen.’
‘I know, but you didn’t. You’re here.’
‘Exactly, so I’m determined to make the absolute most of whatever I have left. I don’t want to be doing anything because I think I should, or because it’s perceived as the right thing to do if it doesn’t feel right. One day the girls will be grown up and have lives of their own and I know it would be awful and really hard in many ways but if I was on my own I would cope. I would bloody well find a way to make it work.’
Karen spoke firmly. ‘Jen, this is crazy talk. I thought you’d come to terms with everything. Max is so bloody sorry and he’ll never ever, ever look at another woman as long as he lives. Isn’t he entitled to one mistake? He didn’t even sleep with her.’
‘So he says,’ she sighed, her expression anguished. ‘But that’s hardly the point. For months I was torturing myself while he was busy fantasising about having it off with that awful disgusting woman. I’m so angry with him Karen, and it’s not going away. I want it to. I can’t tell you how much I want it to because I don’t want to lose my lovely life because of his stupidity. I was happy for a long time. But if I can’t love him any more…’ she trailed off. ‘Do you think I should just settle for the children’s sakes?’
‘I’d hardly describe what you’ve got as settling. You’ve got a lovely family and a great life. Plus, no matter how determined you are, I don’t know if you would cope if you left. It’s bloody hard out there these days,’ whispered Karen urgently, conscious that the kids had suddenly thundered down the stairs and were now in the hall. ‘You’d have to sell this house, you’d be a single mum, the girls would suffer and, I hate to say it, but between the two of you there wouldn’t be enough money to run two households. It would be a nightmare.’
Jennifer sighed, tortured by confusion. Everything Karen had just said was true. She wasn’t stupid and had already considered all of this. Yet, for whatever reason, all she’d been able to see for the last fe
w months was her life stretched out before her and that there were two directions she could go in. Two tunnels almost, only one was a far easier route to take. She could continue as she was, in what felt like a damaged relationship, full of resentment. And who could tell? Perhaps with a lot of hard work and effort they would get back on track.
But there was another way. Only when she tried to look in that direction, she had no idea what its future held. All she could be sure of was that it was full of uncertainty and difficulty but also of hope, excitement and change. It was one where she would start again, on her own, as Jennifer Drew. This route thrilled her as much as it terrified her. The familiar versus the unknown. Safety versus risk. Head versus heart.
‘But listen,’ added Karen, ‘at the end of the day I can’t tell you what to do because only you know how you feel so whatever you decide to do, know that I am here for you. One hundred percent. Always.’
It was exactly what Jennifer needed to hear.
Later that night, after everyone had gone, Max put the girls to bed. As soon as they were settled he came to join Jennifer on the sofa where she was vaguely watching the news.
After a few minutes he took the remote control from her and turned the TV off.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I need to know, Jen. I’m sorry but I can’t carry on like this any more. I need to know. I can’t go around pretending that everything’s OK any more because we both know it isn’t and it seems the harder I try the more detached you become. So are you in or out? Because if you’re in, you have to forgive me. You have to find a way to forget and to let me in or we don’t stand a chance. But if you think you can’t do that, then I need to know, for once and for all, because the not knowing is killing me.’
Jennifer stared at her husband knowing that their fate lay entirely in her hands. Which tunnel would she choose? She thought back to all the times she’d had to make a decision in the past and knew that none of them had ever been as far-reaching as this one or would ever have as much impact on all of their lives. She was in control now. She needed to make a decision. Perhaps she already had.
Author
Q&A
Do you have a favourite character in If You’re Not the One? Why, and what inspired you to write them?
Jennifer is my favourite character in the book. She’s by no means perfect(whois?), but I really like her and can relate to her enormously. The idea for her story came to me during a period when, like Jennifer, I was trying to figure a few things out. On paper she should be happy. But she’s not and is hurtling towards a mid-life crisis, unsure of what she wants. We meet her at a time when she’s wondering if there should be more to life and is asking herself, ‘Is this it?’ I would imagine she’s not alone. We live in confusing times, encouraged to reach for the stars, to have the best career, the best relationship and not to settle. Of course, there’s a lot to be said for safe and steady and secure, but only as long as it doesn’t trickle into dull, unfulfilling and suffocating. Previous generations were programmed just to get on with things and people’s reluctance to ‘put up and shut up’ these days is often labelled as selfishness. Is it, though? I’m not sure. This is why I like her character so much and why she was such a joy to write. Jennifer doesn’t have all the answers and I truly believe that, like her, most of us aren’t completely happy all of the time or completely miserable. Instead, most of us have good days and bad. Life can be beautiful and also sad. As a result, she feels very real to me and I loved exploring how all the different relationships she experiences make her feel and, to a degree, act in a different way. She’s also funny. All the best people are.
Which man do you think Jennifer would be happiest with and why?
I think the man who was her real soul-mate and with whom she had the most passionate connection was Joe. Of course, their feelings were dramatically heightened by the situation they were in, but I like to think that, given the chance, they would have made each other very happy.
With the book as a whole, I wanted to demonstrate that most of the time, when we break up with someone, it’s for a very good reason. More often than not our instincts are correct. Therefore it was important to show that had she stayed with Aidan or Tim she would have been fairly miserable. However, I was also determined to show that had she stayed with Steve she could have been quite content, thus destroying the romantic notion that there’s only one person out there for each of us. After all, if your parents emigrated to another country when you were a child, it’s unlikely to imagine you would never meet anyone you were compatible with and that you had in fact been destined solely for the boy up the road.
Would you like to be able to see what ‘could have been’, like Jennifer does?
I’m not sure! I think it’s something we all wonder about and not just in terms of relationships. I often ponder what might have been had I chosen as lightly more standard career path, for example. I think perhaps it’s better we can’t and that we just live in the moment and try not to have too many regrets and have faith in our own decisions.
If there’s one thing you’d like readers to take away from If You’re Not the One, what would it be?
That our lives are all made up of a series of small and large decisions which determine everything. Who you choose to share your life is the most far reaching, for it affects not just your emotional needs but also where you live, your financial status, your friends, extended family, etc. I wanted readers to form their own opinion about Max and Jennifer to a degree. They’ve got a lot going for them, but the effort has gone. I don’t think the book necessarily provides any concrete answers, but I do believe it throws up lots of questions and I hope this makes it an interesting and thought-provoking read. I also set out to try and demonstrate that from the outside looking in it can be easy to imagine you know how people feel or what it’s like to be them, and yet no one really does unless you’re in those four walls or in that person’s brain. Most of all, however, I simply hope that it’s an enjoyable read with some sad bits and some funny bits that passes the time enjoyably and makes people want to tell their friends about it. (Not much then?!)
Where do you write—are you a paper-and-pen girl or a coffee-shop with a laptop sort?
Laptop all the way. It’s terrible to confess, but my seven-year-old son and nine-year-old daughter have far better handwriting than me these days. When I write a card or something, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to write with a pen. Forgotten how to hold a pen even. To be honest, I don’t know how anyone could bear to write anything in longhand. What happens if you want to edit a chunk or move things around? I’d have to totally change my approach if I had to write in longhand as I tend to sort of pour my thoughts out on to the screen and then go back and make sense of the jumble after. This would not be at all practical if using a pen. My next deadline would probably need to be about 2038. And half of that would have been taken up just looking for a pen, as in my house they disappear as soon as they’re bought. Full respect to pen wielders. I don’t know how you do it.
What do you love most about being a writer?
The satisfaction of creating an entire world and the people who inhabit it. It’s the best job in the world and the only really hard aspect of it is coming up with what your next idea is going to be. Once you’ve cracked that, though, there’s nothing better than a day when it’s all flowing and at times you’ve made yourself chuckle or (and this has been known to happen) to cry at what you’re writing. Those are the moments when you know you’re on to something good. The fact that this all happens in your own head in solitude does at times conspire to make you feel like a bit of a nut-job admittedly, but it’s also a lot of fun. The absolute best thing about being a writer, though, is that your only commute is to the kitchen to get caffeine-based drinks, you can wear your most comfy (revolting) ‘leisure wear’ and no one knows if your hair’s greasy and you look like a total minger.
What piece of advice would you give to aspiring writers?
Have
a good osteopath on speed dial. When you start to hate your manuscript (about fifty thousand words in), take a break for a few weeks in order to get some objectivity back. Don’t write with your audience in mind, otherwise you’ll start fretting about whether your mum will approve and end up restricting what you want to say. Know where you’re trying to get to. It’s obvious, but every story needs a beginning, a middle and an end and it helps enormously if that has been thought out before you begin. Don’t forget to read other people’s books! Reading keeps you inspired and keeps you tuned in to what will make your writing interesting and good. Also, think about what the point of the book is. To my mind there isn’t any point if there isn’t a point. And lastly, don’t give up. Rejection is par for the course, but if you love writing, you should continue anyway. Do it for the love of it and with a bit of luck one day your perseverance will pay off.
Champagne or a cup of tea?
I drink more tea than champagne. I hope to reverse that in the future and aspire to be more like Joan Collins in many ways. I love the idea of wafting around casually brandishing a flute of the fizzy stuff because it’s simply all I’ll drink. In truth though, I tend to find champagne a bit acidic and on occasion to cause reflux and dry mouth which tends to lessen the glamour factor. Tea, however, rocks. As does vodka, white wine and gin. OK, now I’m just listing types of alcohol…
City or country?
I don’t think I could live in the country full-time. Or at least not while I’m still working. I’m an urban chick at heart. I was born and raised in London and love the hurly burly of the capital. Having said that, an escape to the coast or the country is like medicine for the soul when the traffic, noise and grime have all got too much. I’m so ‘city’ that a walk in totally fresh air literally makes me feel like I’ve been drugged afterwards. In a good way. I guess the ideal is a bit of both.
Topshop or Gucci?
Hmm—I’m not sure that during these strange economic times I could ever justify spending hundreds of pounds on a skirt or belt, but that doesn’t mean to say I wouldn’t love a Gucci handbag. It’s pathetic, but like most females I am simply designed to be excited by a new handbag or shoes. No point fighting it. It’s just basic biology. So, I’d say Gucci for a treat, but good old Topshop every day of the week if I needed some new clothes I could actually afford and that didn’t make me vomit in my mouth, due to sickness brought on by anxiety and guilt after paying at the till.