It's Not You, It's Them

by Portia MacIntosh

  Yes, I could’ve happily never woken up under a stranger’s roof again. Today I feel quite passionate about getting back to my own.

  Realising that I’m in the pop-up bed (that no longer pops up after last night’s almost-antics) alone, I sit up quickly, and my back pain hits me like a ton of bricks being dropped onto my spine all at once. It turns out that sleeping on a thin mattress on a freezing-cold stone floor does not suit me at all, and I’m feeling the after-effects this morning.

  Climbing up from the floor slowly, I grab my fur coat and throw it on while I sort myself out. It’s just so unbelievably cold, I can’t stand it. Keeping the blinds closed, and my coat on, while I sort out my stuff seems like a good plan of action for keeping as warm as possible, but it’s not doing much to help. The areas of this house that are away from the fireplaces – or the cold, windowless, radiator-less corridors that connect the rooms – are just unbearable to remain in for more than a few seconds.

  I grab my toothbrush, clothes, shoes and make-up bag and make a quick dash from the study to the bathroom next door. It’s not a proper bathroom, just a tiny WC, but there’s a mirror and that’s all I need to make myself presentable enough to say goodbye and endure a five-hour journey home.

  Normally the prospect of a long car journey would bum me out – especially with an aching back – but I just cannot wait to go home. This trip has been a bit of a wash-out, but at least it’s over, and maybe we can try it again soon under different circumstances – like with less of Mark’s family all at once, or even just without his ex, to be honest. I just need to face her one more time – about as long as it takes me to drink a cup of coffee and say goodbye to everyone – and then it’s all over.

  I hear the sound of someone trying the bathroom door.

  ‘Won’t be a sec,’ I call back.

  I slip on my outfit from yesterday, climb into my tall boots and put on a brave face (read: lots of make-up) before grabbing my coat and leaving the bathroom, ready to face everyone.

  Outside the door, a tall, broad girl with a messy brown bob is standing, waiting to use the bathroom. Her hair is all over the place, like she’s just woken up, and she’s wearing a Leeds United T-shirt not dissimilar to the one I slept in – or maybe it is different, I don’t know, because they all look the fucking same, and yet, for some reason, Mark has to buy a new one every year. Entirely different to when I go to Zara and buy the same dress in several colours – honestly.

  ‘Hello,’ I say politely.

  ‘Hey, you must be Roxie,’ she says with a big smile.

  ‘Yeah, nice to meet you…’

  ‘Kerry,’ she replies, grabbing me for a hug. ‘Kez to my friends. I’m Marky-Mark’s little cousin.’

  Kerry is probably around my age and significantly taller than I am, so I imagine she’s using the term ‘little’ ironically. She confirms this by sniggering as she says it.

  ‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ I reply, and I really mean it, because she is so warm and friendly. ‘That’s a strong hug.’

  ‘I know, right?’ she says as she releases me. ‘Us Wrights are built like brick shithouses.’

  I laugh. It’s just so nice to hear someone swear.

  ‘So your parents own the pub?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, they’re the ones, unfortunately,’ she replies. ‘We don’t exactly get along so I tend not to spend too much time with them. Or any time with them, really. I live in Manchester now but I was visiting old mates last night. Didn’t want to stay with the ‘rents, obvs, and figured my Auntie Val would have a room for me. Didn’t realise she had a house full, so I had to sleep on the sofa. Usually I get the pop-up bed, at least.’

  I daren’t tell her that the pop-up bed is no more. RIP, pop-up bed.

  Kerry seems exactly like my kind of person. Living in the city has obviously snapped her out of bumpkin mode and made her cool and cosmopolitan. She seems like the kind of girl I could really get on with – it’s such a shame she wasn’t here last night; we could’ve got to know each other, and I probably wouldn’t have had to play that stupid game either.

  ‘Yeah, it’s like everyone is here at the moment,’ I reply.

  ‘Pretty fucking rough that Mark’s ex is here,’ she sympathises. ‘Not just for you – for all of us. Never liked her, me. I call her Be-atch, because she’s a first-class bitch. She tells me off for shit, like smoking, drinking and eating crap – she tells me I need to lose weight – like it’s her medical opinion. In my medical opinion, best thing Mark ever did was move on from her.’

  Oh, my God, I officially have a girl crush.

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t exactly warm to her myself,’ I reply. As much as I’d love to launch into a full-blown onslaught against Bea, I keep my feelings to myself.

  ‘You going somewhere?’ she laughs, nodding towards my coat.

  ‘We’re leaving soon,’ I tell her. ‘So I’m just gathering my things together.’

  Kerry laughs at me wildly.

  ‘Oh shit, you’re serious,’ she says, her face falling. ‘Come with me,’ she insists.

  Kerry ushers me towards the front door, placing me in front of her as she opens it up. The cold air hits me first, chilling me to the bone. Then I notice the ten inches of snow that have piled up in front of the door.

  ‘When did this happen?’ I squeak, in complete shock.

  ‘During the night,’ she replies. ‘That’s why I didn’t make it home. Apparently there were weather warnings, but no one expected this much.’

  I clap my hand over my mouth in horror as one big fat realisation sinks in: I am stuck here. I am stuck in this deathly cold house, with Mark’s freezing-cold family and his ice queen of an ex-girlfriend, Be-atch. And, worse of all, I’m not going to be able to make it home in time for Christmas. The fact that Kerry has shown up, despite her seeming like an ally, affords little relief because I am trapped, without so much as a phone signal to call my parents and try to convince them to remortgage their house and hire a helicopter to come here and save me. Even if I meant that seriously, I don’t think my dad would go for it. The man spent two weeks living on the streets to get in character for a role in a play. Such extreme method acting probably isn’t completely necessary for a low-budget production of Oliver Twist, is it?

  ‘So, you’re not going anywhere,’ Kerry laughs. ‘You’re not happy about this, are you?’

  ‘I... I can’t breathe,’ I splutter.

  ‘OK, just chill for a sec,’ Kerry insists, closing the front door before sitting me down on the stairs. ‘You’re just having a panic attack; it’s all going to be OK. I know this must be difficult for you, but I’m here now so at least we’ll have some fun.’

  I smile at Kerry between deep breaths. It’s so sweet of her to be looking out for me, but not even having a friend can make being stuck here any more bearable. This is like my own personal hell.

  ‘You’re looking really pale, love. Let’s get you a drink and a proper chair.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply quietly.

  Kerry places my coat around my shoulders and leads me into the kitchen where Mark is sitting at the breakfast table with his mum, his dad and Bea. His dad is at one end, his nose deep inside a book, with a bowl of porridge in front of him that he doesn’t appear to be at all interested in. Mark is sitting at the other side, spreading butter and then jam on slices of toast. In the middle, on one side of the table, Val and Bea are sitting having a chat, drinking tea together, looking thick as thieves.

  It’s an uncomfortable and suffocating environment, but at the very least it is warm in here thanks to the Aga. I’m not going to pretend I’m some kind of Aga expert because most of my hot food comes from the microwave, but posh country folk always have them in the rom-coms I watch and the novels I read. It’s not even like they’re even about the cooking; they’re more like a lifestyle thing. Something country folk can talk to each other about, because they’re all in the secret rich Aga club, like ‘ooh, look at us, we keep our ovens on twenty-four h
ours a day’. The same goes for Land Rovers. You’d think living out in the country would give these people a greater sense of what is at stake if we don’t protect our environment, and yet here they are, wrecking the planet left, right and centre with their gargantuan carbon footprint.

  ‘Morning,’ Mark says cautiously as I take a seat next to him. ‘When I woke up and saw all the snow I figured I’d let you have a sleep in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply, purely out of manners. I want to know what they’ve all been talking about without me.

  ‘Here, have some toast,’ he insists. As Mark hands his breakfast over to me, I see Val and Bea both shoot me a look.

  ‘I see you’ve met Kez,’ Mark says, nodding at his cousin as he places more bread in the toaster.

  ‘Best mates, us,’ she replies. ‘And I’m going to tell her all about you when you were younger.’

  ‘Someone needs to,’ Val titters over her teacup.

  Mark shoots her a glance, but his mum just laughs it off.

  ‘Well,’ Valerie starts, pausing to sip her drink, ‘now that you’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future, we can all get to know each other a lot better, can’t we?’

  I take a seat at the kitchen table, not really knowing what to say.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Mark asks me.

  Before I have chance to open my mouth, Valerie chimes in.

  ‘No coffee, unfortunately. No one really drinks it, so we stopped buying it. We have plenty of tea, though.’

  ‘Roxie doesn’t like tea,’ Mark tells them.

  ‘Doesn’t like tea?’ Oscar chimes in, momentarily looking up from his book to express his disgust.

  ‘Wow, it’s not a great day to be you, is it?’ Bea laughs.

  ‘Yeah, it’s up there with my grandparents dying,’ I joke wryly, without really thinking about it. Hmm, maybe Mark made a very valid point about me saying the first thing that pops into my head. ‘Just kidding,’ I insist, my joke bombing with my audience.

  ‘Roxie, I’m going to lend Kerry some clothes, and I think it’s probably best if you let me give you some things to wear, too. Mark tells me you don’t have any other clothes with you, and you must be freezing.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’ll be fine in what I’m wearing,’ I insist.

  ‘Rox, you’ll freeze,’ Mark tells me. ‘I’d put on some warmer clothes if I were you.’

  ‘OK,’ I reply meekly. What’s the point in even trying to fight it?

  ‘Drink this,’ Mark insists, placing a glass of orange juice down in front of me.

  ‘Aww, doesn’t he take good care of you?’ Bea coos. ‘I never had him running around after me like that.’

  My five-minute pity party is officially over. I can’t bite my tongue for a second longer – the real Roxie Pratt is coming out to play.

  ‘Yeah, it’s amazing how people change when they meet the one they love,’ I reply.

  Kerry sucks air into her cheeks, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘So, what were you guys talking about before we got here?’ she asks nosily.

  ‘Mark’s sporting achievements,’ him mum beams.

  ‘Erm, I wouldn’t call them sporting achievements,’ he laughs. ‘Mum was just talking about my old football trophies, from when I played as a kid.’

  ‘Ooh, you must have been good then,’ I reply.

  ‘I’m sure he still is,’ Bea replies. ‘He was a natural; it was amazing. I’d go and watch all his games, cheering him on from the sidelines.’

  Of course she did.

  ‘Those were good times,’ his mum says with a sigh. ‘Going to your games, watching you win, all your friends coming back here for a gathering afterwards. It used to make me so happy, having everyone over. I miss those times.’

  ‘Well, at least you have grandkids now. They’ll keep the place buzzing with activity.’

  ‘And more to come soon, hopefully,’ Val replies.

  As I feel my eyes widen, Kerry catches sight of my reaction, grabbing me by the hand and leading me towards the door.

  ‘Did you say you’d left clothes on your bed, Auntie Val?’ she calls back.

  ‘Yes,’ Val calls after us. ‘Don’t make a mess.’

  Kerry bounds up the stairs with enthusiasm, dragging me along behind her.

  ‘I wonder what relics Auntie Val has dragged out of the back of her wardrobe for us to wear,’ she laughs. ‘Still, I was wearing less than you when I got in last night, so probably for the best.’

  I have never felt cold like I’m feeling it here. In my lovely, city-centre flat with my big, strong radiator of a boyfriend I am always toasty and warm. If the weather ever took an especially cold turn, I’d know that I could crank up the heating and snuggle up in bed with Mark, clutching his body like a koala bear holding on to a branch. Here, that’s not really an option. I feel like everyone is scrutinising every aspect of our relationship. I’m noticing them noticing things, wondering things… like, does Mark run around after me too much? Am I too clingy? Do I know him well enough? Do we have enough in common? Am I good enough for him? For the past year I have been so sure of the answers to all those questions, but here, now, in his natural habitat, I feel like a different species.

  Valerie and Oscar are your typical couple on the surface. She raised the kids while he made the money, but if you look closely, it’s so obvious that she wears the trousers. He clearly loves her so much, and he’d do anything to make her happy – just like Mark is with me. That must be where he gets it from – his dad – but then, with Mark being so willing to let me call the shots, it makes me wonder if I’m anything like Valerie. They do say that men go for women who remind them of their mothers, right? Please, God, tell me I’m nothing like Val.

  On Valerie and Oscar’s bed two suitcases are laid out, opened up, full of neatly folded clothes and pairs of shoes.

  ‘So my auntie said we could riffle through her old shit and wear whatever we wanted,’ Kerry tells me as she begins to do exactly that.

  ‘Is that exactly what she said, though?’ I laugh.

  ‘Well, words to that effect,’ Kerry laughs. ‘So, here, try this on.’

  Kerry hands me a pair of mauve women’s tailored trousers, with a cheeky smirk on her face. As she digs deeper she finds a peach chiffon blouse. The front is covered with ruffles, like something Meatloaf might wear.

  I scrunch up my nose.

  ‘For fun,’ she insists. ‘Try it on.’

  I do as my new best friend requests, comfortably slipping my clothes off in her presence before checking myself out in the mirror.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ I exclaim. ‘I look like I’m cosplaying as an old lady’s grandma.’

  Kerry cracks up.

  ‘Your accent is proper funny,’ she tells me.

  I smile, suddenly conscious of how I speak.

  ‘You sound so posh, it’s mint.’

  It’s funny how people perceive accents from outside of the area they live in. To Kerry, I sound posh, but in London I’m more Adele than Emily Blunt.

  ‘Thanks,’ I laugh.

  As Kerry wrestles on an old Christmas jumper with a slight hole in one of the sleeves she laughs her head off.

  ‘This is brilliant,’ she cackles. ‘You got your phone there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, taking it from my coat pocket. ‘But it doesn’t work here.’

  ‘I don’t want to make a call,’ she laughs. ‘We should take selfies of ourselves in these outfits.’

  ‘OK, sure,’ I laugh.

  Between us, we try on and pose for photos in some of the ugliest clothing I have ever seen. It’s all old, faded, damaged or a combination of all of the above. I don’t know why none of the ladies thought it might be nice to lend us clothes that they weren’t about to throw in the bin, but here we are.

  ‘So, what are you going for?’ she asks curiously, sitting on the floor in a pile of discarded garments, Val’s words, ‘don’t make a mess’, echoing in my head as I look at her.


  ‘Hmm, so many choices,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Close your eyes, I’ll give you a big reveal.’

  ‘Ooh, OK,’ Kerry replies, blindfolding herself with an old sports sock.

  I wriggle into a pair of Leeds United trackies and matching jumper that looks older than I do. Both parts are far too big, but I have to admit they feel so cosy. I pull on the drawstring, making the bottoms as tight as possible, before slipping on a big pair of socks and someone’s old walking boots that were obviously replaced for looking like someone threw them into a wood chipper.

  ‘Ta-da,’ I announce, striking a pose.

  ‘Oh, nice,’ Kerry laughs. ‘Next on the runway we have the lovely Roxie, rocking a Leeds United tracksuit from the 1980s! Isn’t she beautiful?’

  I stroll across the bedroom, popping my hip as I pause, flicking my hair and then strutting off in the opposite direction.

  Kerry snaps a picture before tossing me my phone back.

  ‘OK, my turn,’ she says excitedly. ‘Ready.’

  ‘Wow!’

  Kerry has opted for a floral purple blouse and a pair of cammo combat pants. They clash entirely, not only with each other, but with everything in the world.

  ‘Nice, right?’ she laughs. ‘I figured: go hard, or go home.’

  Kerry is also wearing a pair of boots, not dissimilar to mine, but nowhere near as tatty. Luckily for her, her feet being on the bigger side, she can wear some of the less worn ones, whereas this is the only pair that fits me.

  ‘Better head back downstairs then,’ Kerry chirps.

  ‘Shouldn’t we tidy up first?’ I ask.

  Kerry laughs at me and I feel like a square. She bundles clothing in her arms and crams it all back into the suitcases.