Jojo’s eyes balloon at the sight of me. Her mouth quivers as if attempting to make words, but no sound comes out. I don’t need to do much reading between the lines to figure out she wasn’t expecting to find me at the door.
She looks pale. Pale and thin.
And beautiful.
After all this time, all I want to do is hold her and make everything OK.
‘You thought I was Frankie,’ I say.
The horror and confusion in her eyes answers my question. ‘What are you doing here, Ram?’ she asks, backing away from me into the dimly lit room. Her voice is shaking.
‘You mean you didn’t know I was here at all?’ I ask. ‘Frankie didn’t say?’
She shakes her head.
‘Frankie needed a lift down here,’ I explain. ‘I was the only person she could think of with a car.’
My words are overlapped out by the high-pitched cry of what sounds like a baby.
I blink.
But Olivia has been found. It was on the news literally a few minutes ago. I saw it with my own eyes.
Then I remember what Reece said about Jojo checking in with a baby. We just assumed it was Olivia, no questions asked. It never dawned on me that there might be another baby in the mix. Why would it? It makes literally no sense.
I look at Jojo. She stares back at me, her eyes full of fear.
‘You need to go, Ram,’ she says, her voice low.
‘Why? What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘Please,’ Jojo says, trying to push me out into the corridor.
I stand my ground. I’ve driven all this way and all I’ve got for it so far is a slap round the face and a whole lot of confusion and mixed messages. I’ve had enough of being kept in the dark. It’s time for someone to tell me what the hell is going on.
‘Please, Ram,’ Jojo says, continuing to attempt to push me away. ‘I’m begging you. Just wait downstairs.’
‘Not until someone explains what’s happening.’
The baby is crying louder now.
‘I need to see to him,’ Jojo says, dropping her hands from my chest. She peels away from me and heads towards the cot by the window, bending over it and scooping up the crying child. As if by magic, it shuts up. Very slowly, she turns to face me.
I blink, my eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom after the harsh brightness of the corridor.
The baby is tiny. Not quite brand-new but close, I reckon. It also has a ton of hair. Thick and inky black. It reminds me of Roxy as a baby. And Laleh before her. And the photo of me as a newborn that sits in a silver frame on Mum’s bedside table …
Blood rushes to my face.
Frantically, I count back the months. August, July, June, May, April, March, February, January, December …
‘Is it? It’s not. Is it?’ The words fall clumsily from my mouth.
Jojo holds my gaze, her chin raised, her lips pressed together.
There’s a beat where no one says a word. We just stare at each other, our eyes locked together.
A single tear trickles down Jojo’s cheek.
And that’s when I know for sure.
The baby in her arms is mine.
Chapter 28
Last New Year’s Eve
This was a mistake.
I should have followed my instincts and gone up to my grandma and grandad’s house in York with Mum, Laleh and Roxy. They’ll be snuggled up in front of a log fire right now, eating crisps and dips and watching some cheesy film or playing Monopoly. Instead, I’m shivering my arse off in the garage of some guy I don’t even know, waiting for Maxwell to lose at ping pong so we can go back inside and warm up a bit.
Maxwell is the reason I’m here. It’s his cousin’s party. I’m not sure why I agreed to come, only that it seemed like a good idea when he suggested it.
I know it probably sounds a bit miserable, but I don’t really like parties. On paper, I admit they look kind of fun, but the reality never lives up to the promise. Every party I’ve ever been to has left me feeling sort of empty and disappointed, and so far this one shows no signs of bucking the trend. It doesn’t help that I don’t know a soul here apart from Maxwell. I suppose I could make a bit more of an effort and initiate some small talk, but I don’t have the energy right now. Christmas was a bit of an emotional slog and I’m not sure I’ve got much left in the tank.
I take another sip from the warm can of Coke I’ve been nursing for the past half an hour and watch an increasingly sweaty Maxwell fling himself about the garage, grunting like a Wimbledon finalist with every shot.
‘You’re Frankie’s ex, aren’t you?’
I turn to my left. A girl with long, almost aggressively straight blonde hair is smiling up at me. Despite the Baltic temperature out here, she’s wearing a little black dress with spaghetti straps, her legs and arms bare.
‘How do you know Frankie?’ I ask.
‘School. She’s in my year.’
‘Is she here?’
‘No. She’s in Tenerife, I think. Somewhere like that anyway.’
I nod, simultaneously disappointed and relieved.
‘I’m really sorry things didn’t work out for you guys,’ she says.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur.
She extends her hand for me to shake. Her arms are puckered with goose pimples and her nails are long and red and glossy. ‘I’m Georgia, by the way,’ she says, wobbling slightly in her very high heels.
‘Ram.’
She shoots me a flirtatious grin. ‘Oh, I know who you are.’
I smile tightly and return my attention to the game. It’s match point. I will Max to lose so we can go back inside. It’s too bright out here. The fluorescent strip lights are making my eyes hurt. Plus, this Georgia girl is looking at me with far more intent than feels comfortable.
Max wins.
Shit.
As he flosses in celebration, I grab his sleeve. ‘Mate, I’ve got to go in,’ I say. ‘My fingers are about to fall off, it’s so cold.’
‘Go on then, you pussy,’ he says, sweat dripping from his brow. ‘I’ll come find you in a bit.’
‘You’re going inside?’ Georgia asks as I move towards the door.
‘Yeah.’
‘You want company?’
‘Er, no thanks. I’m just going to the loo.’
‘Does that mean you’re coming back?’ she asks.
‘Er, I dunno, maybe.’
Another flirtatious grin. ‘Well, I’ll be waiting.’
I give her another tight smile, chuck my almost empty Coke can in the black bin bag in the corner and head inside.
In my absence, the house has grown even busier. I squeeze past the people jamming up the hallway and make my way into the kitchen. It’s similarly packed, the windows opaque with steam. Someone has written ‘Happy New Year, bitches!’ in the condensation. I push my way through the warm bodies and open the fridge. There are no cans of Coke left so I have to make do with a glass of flat lemonade from a half-empty bottle on the sideboard.
Over by the patio doors, a bunch of kids have gathered around the kitchen table and are attempting to play beer pong but they don’t have the right kind of cups, just those little flimsy clear plastic ones – every shot resulting in a spillage.
Drink in hand, I push my way back the way I came, lemonade sloshing over the side of my glass. A girl with long black hair flashes me a big smile, I ignore her and keep moving. Girls are the last thing on my mind tonight.
I roam around the house looking for a quiet spot. The living room is clearly the designated make-out zone, loved-up couples everywhere I look.
No thank you.
Maybe I’ll just go hang out in the garden for a bit. I’ll need my coat, though. I head upstairs to the bedroom where I think Maxwell and I dumped our things earlier, but the second I open the door, a muffled pair of voices scream at me to ‘get out’ from beneath the pile of coats on the bed. I swear under my breath but do as they’ve asked.
Sighing, I return to the ki
tchen.
‘Ram! Hey, Ram!’ I look up. It’s that Georgia girl. She’s standing near the patio doors, waving at me. ‘Where’d you go?’ she calls.
I just shrug.
‘Wanna play?’ she asks, pointing at the beer pong table. ‘We need one more player.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Oh, go on. You can be on my team.’ She tilts her head to one side and bats her eyelashes.
‘Really, I’m OK.’ I smile apologetically and turn away, pretending to survey the half-hearted buffet. I scoop up a handful of peanuts and shove them in my mouth, all the while trying not to think about the bacteria.
As I wipe my hand on a bit of kitchen roll, something catches my eye. A door tucked away in the corner. I grab a bowl of crisps from the counter and push it open, gutted to discover someone has already beaten me to it.
In the shadows, I can make out a girl sitting cross-legged on top of the washing machine, the torch from her phone trained over the pages of a book.
‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I didn’t realize anyone was in here.’ I begin to back away.
‘Wait a second. Ram, is that you?’
Hang on, I know that voice. ‘Jojo?’
‘Hello!’ she says.
I break into a grin. ‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘Long time no see. Hello!’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jojo asks.
‘I’ve been asking myself that since I got here.’
‘Ah. Not having a great time?’
I laugh. ‘Not the best.’
Jojo grins and for the first time since I arrived, I find myself relaxing. It’s weird, but I don’t think I realized how much I missed hanging out with her until this exact moment.
Jojo and I got on from the beginning. To my shame, I don’t recall much about our very first meeting. It was at a football match, I know that much. She was there with Frankie apparently, watching from the sidelines. I vaguely remember being introduced, but the memory is hazy, dominated by my nostalgia for seeing Frankie again after all those years.
I met her properly on Frankie’s and my second date.
‘If you and me are going to go anywhere,’ Frankie told me, ‘you’re going to need the stamp of approval from Jojo.’
It was the end of March and tipping it down with rain. We were all pretty skint so we sat around Frankie’s kitchen table, eating round upon round of toast and chatting rubbish.
I liked Jojo right away. She was quiet at first, but she soon warmed up. I liked the way she and Frankie bounced off each other. Frankie was the gregarious one, Jojo her quieter, wittier partner in crime. The dynamic worked. Jojo reined Frankie in, Frankie set Jojo free. There was something comforting about their shared history, their in-jokes, their intimacy, their ease with one another. When Frankie informed me that she and Jojo told each other everything, I didn’t doubt it for one second. I envied their bond in lots of ways. Although I had good mates, by silent unspoken agreement, there were certain subjects we stayed clear of. We stuck to what we knew – football, girls, school, music, telly, general banter. And I’d always been content with that, unaware there was a deeper, more meaningful alternative on offer. Watching Frankie and Jojo interact, I got the feeling there was nothing off limits, a concept I found both terrifying and appealing in equal measure.
At one point, Jojo nipped to the loo.
‘Great, isn’t she?’ Frankie said, her eyes shining.
‘She really is,’ I agreed, and Frankie beamed with pride.
After that, we spent lots of time together as a threesome. Somewhere along the way, Frankie suggested I try setting Jojo up with Maxwell. I screwed up my face. I loved Maxwell, but I knew him too well to allow him anywhere near sweet, kind Jojo.
‘He’s still hung up on his ex,’ I said instead.
Which was true. Sort of.
‘Another one of your friends, then?’ Frankie said.
‘Have you asked Jojo about this?’
‘Uh-huh.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh, you know what Jojo’s like,’ Frankie said. ‘She’s shy when it comes to this stuff. We just need to give her a bit of a nudge.’
I went through my friends in turn, trying to picture each of them with Jojo, but every combination made me feel slightly queasy. When I told Frankie this, she laughed.
‘It’s dead cute how protective you are over her,’ she said. ‘But Jojo’s an independent woman and the smartest person I know. I’m pretty sure she’s capable of making up her mind about these boys on her own.’
Still, I resisted, and eventually Frankie stopped pestering me about it, taking matters into her own hands by trying (and failing, as far as I knew) to push Jojo into the arms of some guy from their drama group.
And then my relationship with Frankie ended, terminating (inevitably I guess) my friendship with Jojo along with it.
Until now.
‘Mind if I join you?’ I ask.
Jojo appears to hesitate for a moment before smiling and patting the tumble-dryer next to her. ‘Be my guest.’
Chapter 29
‘So, what brings you here?’ Jojo asks.
‘To the party or to the utility room?’
She smiles. ‘Both.’
‘Maxwell – you remember my mate Maxwell?’
Jojo nods.
‘Well, this is his auntie and uncle’s place. Who’s the kid having the party? Leo or something?’
‘Theo,’ Jojo says. ‘He’s in my year at school.’
‘OK. Well, he’s Maxwell’s cousin.’
‘I see. And where’s he now? Maxwell, I mean.’
‘The garage.’ I explain about the ping pong tournament.
‘You didn’t fancy playing?’ Jojo asks.
‘Not really. I don’t know, I’m just not really in a joining-in kind of mood tonight.’
‘Why don’t you just go home?’
‘You trying to get rid of me or something?’
She laughs. ‘Course not. Just why torture yourself if you’re not having fun?’
‘Says the girl hiding in the utility room with the book.’
‘Touché,’ she says, playfully swatting me with it.
‘I think Maxwell would probably be annoyed if I went home now,’ I explain. ‘I’ll stay until after midnight. That’s respectable, right?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘Having fun? Or is that a stupid question?’ I nod at the book, on closer inspection a battered Agatha Christie paperback.
‘In all honesty, I’m just a bit bored. It was fun at first, but everyone’s got to that point of drunk where they don’t make any sense and just keep repeating themselves. In fact, you’re probably the only sober person I’ve encountered all night.’
‘Same,’ I say. ‘Maxwell downed a load of tequila on the way here and has been off his face ever since.’
‘Is he a nice drunk, at least?’ Jojo asks.
‘He’s a loud drunk. He gets very bellowy.’
‘Oh, fun.’
I offer up the bowl of crisps. She takes a handful. I do the same.
As we munch, I sneak a sideways glance at her. Her hair is shorter than I remember, bobbed, like a film star from the 1920s. It suits her.
‘I like your hair,’ I say.
‘My hair?’
‘Yeah, you’ve cut it, right?’
‘Oh, yes. Just before Christmas. I’m still getting used to it.’
‘It’s cool.’
‘You reckon?’ she says, grabbing a chunk and tugging at it. ‘I’m still not sure. I mean, I had it long like for ever so it’s kind of a big change.’
‘No, it’s great. You look really stylish. Like, what’s-her-name? Louise something … er … Brooks! Yeah, Louise Brooks, you look like her.’
Jojo frowns. ‘Louise Brooks? I don’t think I know her.’
‘She was a silent film star,’ I say. ‘From the 1920s … Hang on.’ I take out my phone and type ‘Louise Brooks’ into Google images. �
�That’s her,’ I say, passing the phone to Jojo.
She peers at the rows of photos. ‘Her hair’s a lot thicker than mine,’ Jojo says. ‘And much darker.’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘You still look like her, though.’
‘Thank you. I think you’re being overly generous, but it’s New Year’s Eve and I’m going to start as I mean to go on and take the compliment.’ She passes me my phone back. ‘I didn’t have you down as a film buff,’ she adds.
‘Oh, I’m not,’ I say. ‘I’m as low-rent as you can get. Seriously, my favourite film is Marley and Me.’
Jojo laughs.
‘It’s all my mum’s doing,’ I explain. ‘She’s really into her old-school Hollywood film history. She’s been making us watch all these classic old black and white films since we were little kids.’
‘And yet you still prefer Marley and Me?’
‘Guilty as charged.’
There’s a pause.
‘So, how have you been?’ we ask each other at exactly the same time.
We laugh.
‘You go first,’ Jojo says.
‘No, you. Ladies first and all that.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Fine. Although there’s nothing much to tell really. I’ve just been busy with school and drama club stuff mainly. Frankie and I have just got audition dates through for the Arts Academy so we’ve started prepping for that.’
‘That’s the drama school, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You feeling good about it?’
‘Oh God, I don’t know. It’s so competitive.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Thousands of people apply for less than fifty places.’
‘Wow. Good luck!’
‘Thanks. Frankie’s convinced we’re both shoo-ins, but you know what Frankie’s like …’
I smile. ‘How is she?’ I ask. ‘She’s away, right?’
‘Yes. She’s in Tenerife until Wednesday. It’s her parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary. The whole family have flown out for it.’
‘Good old Nino and Angie,’ I say with a smile. I always got on well with Frankie’s mum and dad, and her older brother, Luca, much to Frankie’s annoyance.
First Day of My Life Page 17