Anxiety Girl: Meet Sadie Valentine...

by Lacey London

  Blinking as I let out a yawn, I roll onto my side and stare out of the window. Fluffy clouds hang perfectly in the blue sky, tickling the tops of the trees in the distance. Hugging the pillow tightly, I have an overwhelming urge to tug the duvet over my head and pretend that today has been cancelled. When I felt down as a child, a simple bar of chocolate and an Enid Blyton book was all it took to lift my spirits. A smile plays on the corner of my lips as I remember the days where my biggest worry was getting my homework in on time. If only all of life’s problems could be solved with a simple sugar hit.

  Hearing voices in the living room, I grab my dressing gown from the back of the door and rub last night’s mascara from beneath my eyes.

  ‘What’s going on out here?’ I ask, smiling as I open the door to reveal Aldo and Edward sprawled out on the couch.

  ‘We’re arguing!’ Edward declares, giving Aldo a playful nudge. ‘Can you please tell him that honey is not an acceptable colour for a bathroom?’

  ‘Honey?’ I frown and flick on the coffee machine. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Edward looks at Aldo to elaborate, but he simply shakes his head and looks down at the floor guiltily. Taking a mug from the cupboard, I look between the two of them and wait for an explanation.

  ‘Well, what’s going on?’ I offer Aldo a smile, but he just stares back at me uneasily.

  ‘You had to tell her sooner or later.’ Edward gives Aldo’s arm a squeeze and I feel a wave of worry.

  Clearing his throat, Aldo runs his fingers through his hair and attempts to keep his voice light. ‘The thing is, Edward and I are considering moving in together.’

  ‘Considering?’ Edward interjects, shooting Aldo daggers. ‘We’ve just picked out paint samples!’

  Ignoring the sadness in my chest, I keep smiling and pray that my true feelings don’t show. ‘That’s great news! I’m so happy for you both!’

  ‘You are?’ Aldo mumbles uncertainly, bringing his eyes up to mine. ‘I was a little worried about how you would take it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ I fire back, leaning over the couch and embracing them both warmly. ‘It’s about time you flew the nest.’

  Aldo gives me a look which says he doesn’t believe me and I pretend I haven’t noticed. I knew that Aldo and I couldn’t live together forever. Eventually one of us would become a fully certified grown up and join the real world. I just didn’t see it happening any time soon, that’s all. They have only been together for two minutes and for at least one of those minutes they’ve been at one another’s throats.

  Turning my attention to the coffee maker, I leave the two of them to discuss colour charts and pop a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. I can’t let Aldo see that I am upset. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ruin this monumental step in his relationship with my own selfish feelings.

  ‘Do you want to come to Ikea with us?’ Edward asks, reaching for his coat.

  I envisage the three of us walking around the iconic furniture store and cringe. My gay best friend, his boyfriend and me. Pathetic just doesn’t cover it.

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got to check on my mum’s house. She’s gone to Dubai for a little while.’ Hopping onto a stool, I cradle the hot mug close to my chest.

  ‘Well, you know where we’ll be if you change your mind.’ Grabbing Aldo by the sleeve, Edward turns on his heels and immediately starts talking about kitchen appliances.

  Watching the door slam behind them, I rest my elbows on the breakfast bar and sigh. I need to get my life back on track. Even Aldo is moving forward and making plans for the future. Two months post-breakup and I’m still moping around, still unable to close the door and move on. If losing my contract with Precious wasn’t enough to give me a reality check, then I really am heading for trouble.

  I’ve always believed that when one door closes another one opens, but lately I feel like I’ve had one door after the next slam in my face. First Spencer and now Precious. If bad things come in threes, I dread to think what is next…

  * * *

  Pulling up outside my mother’s extravagant abode, I turn off the engine as the gates automatically close behind me. Looking up at the house before me, I pause to check out the fleet of extravagant sports cars. Red, yellow, green and blue, all neatly lined up in front of the garages. In true Mick style, he chooses to leave his prized toys in full view of the passing public. Some things are supposed to be admired, he so often tells me, not caring in the slightest that they’re just an open invitation to be stolen.

  Sliding my key into the lock, I’m surprised to notice that she’s decorated again. My mother’s constant need to redecorate means that her house is so unfamiliar to me. Each time I come here it looks completely different to the last.

  Stepping into the hallway, my eyes scan the open space cautiously. The old building has been thoroughly renovated, not a hint of the original interior remains. When she first bought this place, it was like a little piece of history. Coming here used to feel like you were stepping back in time. I hardly recognise it since Mick got his grubby hands on the keys. Gone are the wooden beams, the period-style drapes and the ornate fireplaces that warmed every room.

  Today the house is a boring shade of magnolia, with a glass frontage and more diamantes than you could ever imagine. There’s not a hint of my mother to be seen.

  Wandering around the living room, I cast my eyes over the many photographs that adorn the marble mantelpiece. There must be fifty pictures here and I’m not on a single one of them. From exotic images of the many idyllic islands they have visited over the years, to Mick’s litter of children, they’re all displayed proudly for the world to see.

  I pick up a gold frame and stare at the unfamiliar faces looking back at me. Mick has six children to six different women, none of which he has any contact with. Well, unless you count sending a gift voucher in the mail every Christmas as contact. Mum won’t address the issue. The one time I tried to bring it up she completely flipped out and told me to mind my own business. Personally, I don’t think his six abandoned children would be as protective over her beloved Mick.

  Putting down the frame, I pad into the kitchen and look up at the giant chandelier overhead. It’s such a bizarre feeling to not recognise your own mother’s home. To be completely honest, using the word mother feels foreign to me, too. She’s always been more like a distant friend or an older sister who only acknowledges me because she feels morally obliged.

  You’re probably wondering why I’m being so blasé about this, but the truth is I accepted my strained relationship with my mum a long time ago. Having Aldo by my side over the past few years has made it easier to deal with. He filled my mother’s shoes better than she ever could.

  A pang of sadness hits my stomach as I am reminded that he will soon be leaving me. Unintentionally, I have been using Aldo as a crutch to get over Spencer. Since our breakup, I haven’t spent a single night alone. It’s been Aldo and I through it all. Chick flicks, ice-cream and booze-fuelled dinners that resulted in us dancing the night away until the early hours.

  A part of me is worried that once he is gone, I will start the grieving process all over again. After all, you’ve never truly grieved for something, until you have grieved alone…

  Chapter 8

  ‘Did I tell you he has a yacht in Monaco?’ Piper teases, twirling a pile of tagliatelle with her fork and raising her eyebrows. ‘He’s offered to take me there next week!’

  Responding with a nod, I shoot a glance at Ivy. All evening she has been glued to her phone, giggling like a teenager as she clacks at the keyboard. Catching me looking at her, she quickly shoves the handset into her handbag and motions for Piper to tell her more.

  ‘He also owns a fleet of private jets and like, a million properties…’ Piper’s eyes sparkle and I can almost see pound signs floating around her head.

  ‘So…’ I interrupt, hoping that she doesn’t bite my head off. ‘Does anyone else have anything to share?’ I fee
l Piper’s eyes burning into me and pretend I haven’t noticed. ‘Anything at all?’

  Hoping that the twins have also tired of the sound of Piper’s voice, I send them a mental SOS to change the subject.

  ‘Word on the grapevine is that Aldo’s moving out…’ Zara puts down her fork and pushes away her plate. ‘What happened there?’

  ‘Jeez, Sadie! You can’t even keep a gay man!’ Piper throws back her head and laughs manically. ‘I’m kidding!’ She adds, clearly sensing I’m a little stung.

  Biting my lip, I look down into my salad and try not to retaliate.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Piper presses, sipping her mineral water. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s a little funny.’

  ‘First Spencer and now Aldo!’ Zara howls and bangs her fist down on the table. ‘What do you do to these guys?’

  The three of them burst into hysterics and I force myself to join in. I don’t think anyone could understand how devastated I am at Aldo moving out, but I refuse to let it show. They don’t understand the connection that Aldo and I have, no one does.

  Clearing my throat, I put down my fork and focus on Ivy. ‘Speaking of Spencer, did you ever find out why he was contacting you?’ My heart pounds in my chest as the table falls into an uncomfortable silence. ‘What?’ I mumble, taking in their guilty faces anxiously.

  Piper and Zara exchange glances as Ivy’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

  ‘Let’s not make a big deal out of this, okay?’ Piper exclaims, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically. ‘Spencer and Ivy have been talking.’

  ‘Talking?’ I whisper, praying that I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. ‘Why?’

  Ivy fidgets nervously and looks away, not breathing a word. Realising that my suspicions are right on the money, my jaw drops open in shock.

  ‘Oh, don’t look like that, Sadie!’ Piper scoffs in annoyance, rolling her eyes. ‘You guys were together for two bloody minutes!’

  Every hair on my body stands to attention as I try to process what she is saying. Ivy and Spencer? I look around the table and pray to wake-up from this nightmare, but the three faces just stare back at me blankly.

  Feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes, I grab my jacket and throw some notes down on the table. ‘I’ve got to go…’ I stammer, suddenly having the overwhelming urge to vomit. ‘I need to get out of here.’

  Squeezing through the sea of tables, I force myself to keep it together until I make it out onto the street. Talking? The word sounds so innocent, but we all know exactly what it means. How could he do this to me? How could Ivy do this to me? My chest becomes painfully tight as I fight back the tears.

  Whilst I have spent the last couple of months struggling to get over Spencer, he has been trying to get into my friend’s pants. I feel like I’ve been stabbed, stabbed in the back by people I trusted. How can a few words cause you actual physical pain? A lump forms in my throat as I look left and right before running across the dark street. I will not cry in public. I haven’t cried in years and I will be damned if I do it now.

  Pulling my jacket tightly around my body, I march past the taxi rank and bury my face in my scarf. The sharp wind bites at my face as my feet pound against the concrete. I don’t want to make small talk with a cab driver, I don’t want to make small talk with anyone. I just want to go home and pretend this whole conversation didn’t happen.

  I hear laughter and look across the street to see a young couple chasing one another playfully. Happiness beams out of them as they run along the lane and I smile sadly. Why can’t I have that? Why have I only ever felt a connection with one guy in twenty-five years and why did he turn out be such an arsehole? The only opportunity I’ve ever had to make a family of my own was brutally snatched away from me and I have no idea why.

  Continuing towards my apartment, I quicken my pace as heavy rain starts to fall from the sky. The balls of my feet burn as I race along the road in my heels, but it just pushes me to run even faster than I was before. Numerous cars whizz past me, but all I see is a blur of colour. I can’t focus on anything else other than getting back to the safety of home. By the time I arrive at the gates, my hair and clothes are completely drenched. Shielding my eyes from the torrential rain, I jog across the car park and practically throw myself inside the building. A few neighbours make attempts to talk to me, but the only person I want to talk to is Aldo.

  Wringing the excess water out of my hair, I knock on the door and wait for Aldo to answer. When nothing happens, I let myself in.

  The apartment is eerily quiet, indicating that Aldo isn’t home. A groan escapes my lips as a handwritten note on the fridge confirms my fears. Leaning over the counter, I tear off the piece of paper and toss it into the bin. Time alone with my thoughts is something I could really do without right now. I need my friend here to help me see this rationally, to stop me from getting hysterical and to give me a much-needed hug.

  Walking into the kitchen, I kick off my wet shoes and strip down to my underwear. Spotting Aldo’s clean laundry on the couch, I grab one of his tracksuits and tug it on. Stealing Aldo’s clothes is another thing I shall miss when he leaves. My stomach flips and I tell myself to pull it together. I just need a plan. A plan that will help me to fill this empty feeling that seems to be getting bigger every day.

  What is so fundamentally wrong with me that prevents me from holding down a relationship? And not just with a man, with anyone. My own mother hates me, my best friend doesn’t want to live with me anymore and the man I was planning on marrying has his sights set on my mate. My whole life is pathetic. I am pathetic.

  My head starts to throb and I fumble around in my handbag for my purse. The emergency pack of painkillers I keep hidden behind my bank cards have been used more than ever lately. Fumbling with the zip, I curse under my breath as the entire contents spill out onto the floor. Hastily gathering up my belongings, my fingers land on an ancient sheet of paper that has been folded neatly. Tears spill down my cheeks as I turn it over and stare at the angrily scrawled out name. Gavin Gastrell. One name that means so little, yet so much at the same time. I smooth out the creases and hold the paper against my chest.

  Even my dad didn’t stick around to get to know me. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I rest my head against the wall and allow my eyes to close. Before I can stop it, I have images of the man who walked out on my mother before I was born. I picture him teaching me how to ride a bike, throwing me in the air to make me giggle and tickling me under the chin. I envisage us on holiday as a family, smiling as we make sandcastles and squealing as the waves attempt to wash it away. He should have been there. He could have been there. To pick me up when I fall, to protect me from making mistakes and to hold me when I get my heart broken.

  I have struggled through so many years without him, maybe the next few years would be a whole lot better if I had my father by my side. With a sudden determination, I push myself to my feet and collapse into a chair with my laptop. Before I know what I’m doing, my fingers start to clack away at the keys, frantically scouring all social media platforms for any trace of the name that has haunted me for years. My ears ring as adrenaline soars through my body. Gastrell. It’s not exactly a common name, he can’t be that hard to find.

  Believe it or not, I’ve never attempted to track down my father before now. The way my mother looked at me when I dared to bring it up was enough to put me off forever.

  When both Twitter and Facebook both prove useless, I search the online phone directory in a last-ditch attempt. My hands tremble as I press enter to reveal two profiles. One belonging to a Gavin Gastrell in Oxford, estimated to be between the ages of twenty-five and thirty and the other to a man in Manchester. The exact part of Manchester that my mother and I lived before she won the lottery. I check out the age estimation and feel the blood drain from my face. He’s between forty and forty-five. It has to be him. It has to be. My finger hovers over the record, slightly reluctant to click view. Do I really want to do this?
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  A flashing icon next to his name tells me that they have his full address and phone number available. One click. That’s all it will take to reveal everything I have ever wanted to know. Entering my card details, I close my eyes and press the button. The page springs to life and I take a deep breath before opening my eyes. There he is. Gavin Gastrell. A shocked laugh escapes my lips as I take in the address. All this time he has been just forty minutes away. For decades he has been within touching distance and our paths haven’t crossed once.

  I look up at the clock on the wall as a crazy thought runs through my mind. Not stopping to think about it, I take a screen-shot of the address and grab my car keys. Taking risks isn’t normally my style, but sometimes you just have to take a chance, because you never know how perfect things could turn out…

  Chapter 9

  Indicating left, I brake gently as the sat nav informs me I have reached my destination. You would think the long drive over here would be enough to make me come to my senses, but I’m more determined than when I left home earlier. I feel full of hope that this is the answer to my problems. If I can forge a meaningful relationship with my dad, it would put everything else in the shadows. A relationship that will stand the test of time and not leave me feeling like an inconvenience or a burden when the going gets tough.

  Turning onto a quiet avenue, I turn down the radio and pull up onto the kerb. I squint at the house numbers in search of thirty-nine as a black estate car drives past me and stops in front of the exact house I’m looking for. Shrinking down into my seat, I pull my hood over my head and tug on the drawstring as the doors open and out step three pairs of feet. The first pair belong to a boy. He’s tall and slim, like me, with a head of mousey curls. Tugging a backpack onto his shoulder, he makes his way along the path and opens the front door.