His shoulders slump forward even more.
‘Are my blow jobs that bad?’ I exclaim.
‘No,’ he chuckles sadly. ‘Your blow jobs are out of this world… it’s just…’ He sighs.
I stop smiling.
‘Joe, what’s up?’
Something’s definitely up. He was funny with Mum, we never moved the rug to under the trees after she left and it was he who suggested we have today apart. It most certainly wasn’t me.
He sighs again and it’s the sort of sigh that sends a cold shiver down my body.
‘Come on, if we’re honest with each other, we’ll be fine, you said,’ I remind him gently.
‘Come in,’ he says, but unwillingly.
I don’t move. Why do I sense doom?
‘Tell me what’s the matter.’
He tenses his jaw. ‘I just… oh God.’
He puts his hands to his face and shakes his head. ‘I don’t… I just…’ he says, his face still behind his hands. He releases them and looks at me. A sad, resigned face. ‘I’m just having doubts, that’s all.’
‘Doubts?’
‘Yes, a bit of a wobble.’
‘Wobble?’
‘Hmmm. It’s all so sudden and I came here to write. I really want to do an album… I shouldn’t be falling in love.’
It’s my turn to slump. I think I might faint, or fall, or die. Jesus.
‘Jenny, I’m so sorry.’
Sorry. SORRY!
I’m breathing deeply. I’m spinning.
‘Jenny, come in and sit down.’
I shake my head. I’m really dizzy now. I think somewhere along the line the deep breathing stopped and all breathing ceased.
‘Jenny, come in, let me explain.’
But, I’m backing away down the drive. I turn from him. I get to the gate. I know he’s still there, I haven’t heard the front door close, and the light from the doorway is still being hurled down the path at me. It’s better at the gate. I have something to lean on and cling to.
‘Do you really mean this?’ I say, suddenly spinning back to face him.
He looks in pain. He does. As though he doesn’t want to do this. Then why is he doing it?
He nods.
‘Why did you do this?’ I cry, but not cry with tears. There are no tears. Just my strangled voice. As though someone is killing me. ‘Why?’
He shakes his head. He’s got tears, they sparkle on his cheeks. All he can do is shake his head. I turn away. I open the gate and walk through it.
It was all so inevitable, wasn’t it?
‘How could you have been so stupid?’ I hiss to myself. The venom shocks even me. ‘You are so stupid, Jenny!’ I scream. ‘So stupid.’
I’ve fallen to my knees on the pavement. I didn’t even notice. My bag splits open. A lipgloss tumbles down the road. A compact falls and the powder cracks.
Chapter 57
I’ve taken to my bed. Like a woman in a costume drama, only nowhere near as pretty. This is day two with a duvet over my head. Mother must have slept on the sofa last night. Perhaps I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. Perhaps I should feel bad that I haven’t done the Smiling Manifesto for two days. But I don’t care. Let Matilda die, let people carry their own shopping. I like it here with my duvet curled around me like I’m something fragile. I’m not though, I’m not fragile, just stupid. So, so, so stupid. I knew Joe was going to do this. This was the reason I kept away from him at first.
He dumped me. Dumped. Lovely word that. Dumped like an old telly that will end up in a landfill in China under millions of other old tellies. Like the girl you said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with and then realised wasn’t good enough. Sorry.
I didn’t think anything could be worse than Steve Wilmot. But Joe King… oh, God, every time I think about him, it’s like someone has put their hand in my tummy and is scooping out my insides. I don’t even think he’s a bastard. I mean, what he did really hurt me because I am an absolute tool with men. I was too scared to let anyone near me after Steve Wilmot and I didn’t sleep with anyone else for eight years. Eight years! I mean, that’s not normal. I kissed a few people in the early hours to loud music, but I’d never go home with them. Until Al. And then Matt. It’s a catastrophic portfolio. But, no, I don’t think he’s a bastard. I can understand Joe King. He wants to write an album. Fair dos. And I’m not the woman he thought I was. I told him about my breakdown and it must have altered his opinion of me. I think the technical term for what he must think I am is a fuck up. Joe King shouldn’t have wooed me. I agree. You shouldn’t woo anyone so confidently. It’s asking for trouble. But I shouldn’t have let myself be wooed. I knew that fairy tales are for children, that romcoms are fairy tales for adults. And that the higher you fly, the further there is to fall. The bigger the smile, the louder the sob. If you are just a girl standing in front of a boy… don’t, whatever you do, tell him that you love him!
There’s a knock on the door now. I ignore it and roll further into my duvet. It must be Al. Mum’s in the room with me. She’s been here all the time. I haven’t been speaking to her though. She should go out and enjoy herself, see the plasterer, anything but sit here with my misery.
‘Fan.’ It is Al. ‘Fan, I’ve got some soup here.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble into the duvet.
‘I’ll leave it on the side for you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘It’ll all be fine, FanTastic.’
How can it be fine, Al? I left a stable man who would have married me for one who turned out to be a rat. Everything I touch, I ruin. Everything my dad and Michelle said about me was bang on the money, I’ll come to nothing, I’m stupid. So, so, so stupid.
‘Well, I’m here, Fan. I’m here.’
They should leave me alone. I’ll only bring them down. I wish they’d go and have some fun. He should be out snogging Gemma, not making me soup. He closes the door as he leaves.
‘Jenny,’ Mum whispers, and she crawls onto the bed next to me. She sits up with her back against the headboard and strokes my hair. ‘Jenny, my little girl. Let me in.’
I burrow further into my duvet.
‘Jenny, let me in.’
I don’t respond.
‘What happened?’
I don’t respond.
It feels later now. I think I must have fallen asleep. Mum’s still in bed with me.
‘It’s OK, I’m here when you’re ready to talk,’ she says. ‘Or not. I’m here.’
I must have slept again because it’s dark outside now. There’s no light peeping beneath the curtains. Mum is still stroking my head. I sigh and then I swallow.
‘He dumped me,’ I say simply. It must have been fairly obvious that that’s what happened. But it’s the first time I’ve stated it aloud.
‘Oh, Jenny. I’m sorry.’
And we don’t say anything else. We don’t really need to. We just carry on as we were.
There’s whispering outside the door, and another knock. The door opens.
‘Hey, it’s me,’ says Philippa.
I poke my face out, and my lips curl down and my eyes fill with tears to see her.
‘Oh, bubba, come here,’ she says and she sits on my bed, and she opens her arms and draws me to her. I sob into her shoulder.
She lets me cry, and she strokes my hair. I can see Mum out of the corner of my eye, smiling sadly at the two of us. And all of a sudden I feel so incredibly lucky. Lucky that there are two people here, my mum and my best friend. But that makes me cry more, because I wish I was better, for their sakes. I wish I was better full stop.
‘Oh, baby girl,’ Philippa says, and she rocks me. ‘Oh, baby girl.’ She sighs. ‘Oh, bubba.’ And she kisses my greasy hair, which must be above the call of duty. ‘Oh, Fan,’ she whispers, and she rocks me some more. ‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ she says when I’ve nearly cried myself out.
Two minutes later she’s back with a bottle of wine and three glasses and Al, who
’s carrying our telly in from the lounge.
‘Could you put it there and bring us the DVD player, Al? Do you mind?’
Al shakes his head and looks at me.
‘Thank you,’ I snivel at him.
‘Thought we’d watch Larry Lemon, the comedian’s comedian,’ Philippa says. ‘Unless you fancy anything else?’
I shake my head.
‘Mrs T? Any preference?’
‘No, I don’t know this Larry Lemon comedian. He’s the one you were talking about the other night.’
‘Ah, you’ll have to acquaint yourself with lovely Larry,’ Philippa says to Mum before turning eagerly to me. ‘Now, Fan, I’m only allowing wallowing for one more day, and then we’re going to the Reading Festival,’ Philippa says.
‘I’m not —’ I start.
‘Yadda, yadda, yadda,’ she says, holding her hand up to ward off any more of my protestations. ‘You have no choice in the matter, Al’s going to physically carry you into the car. Have you told her your rather exciting news, Mrs T?’
Mum shakes her head. ‘What? About Debbie Diamond. No.’ Mum turns to me. ‘You know my old friend, well, I found her on Friends Reunited.’
‘She looks fab, Fan,’ Philippa continues. ‘Proper bonkers, sorry Mrs T, I mean that in the best possible way. So we’ve given Joe’s ticket to her. Was that OK?’
I nod.
‘Good, eh?’ Philippa trills.
It’s not good at all. Well, I suppose it is for Mum. But the last thing they need is me moping around with them. I won’t go. I’ll lock myself in the bathroom.
‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ my mum says, getting up.
‘You can stay,’ I say.
‘Yeah, Mrs T, stay and watch Larry Lemon.’
‘I will another time. You girls have some time for just the two of you now. But if you need me I’m here,’ she says, and leaves the room.
When Al has set up the telly for us and Philippa is getting Larry Lemon ready with the remote control, she turns to me. ‘The stupid thing is, Fan, I bet in a few years, or months, or weeks we’ll have a drunk Joe King on your doorstep à la Steve Wilmot, crying about how losing you was the biggest mistake of his life.’
I can’t imagine that scenario, largely because I never want to see Joe King again.
The two of us prop ourselves up in bed, glasses of wine in hand. This is one of the DVDs that I watched repeatedly when I was depressed before. I probably know very word. Larry Lemon walks onto the stage. He feels like an old friend.
Chapter 58
Philippa was right. Debbie Diamond is bonkers. She’s right out of Ab Fab. She doesn’t stop talking or drinking or asking Marge to stop the car so she can get out and have ciggie. Mum’s delighted by her and that’s nice to see. I’m in the back with my head against the window, staring out, miles away. But a stranger’s chatter is oddly comforting.
‘Hey’ – Philippa slides her hand in mine – ‘I went to Rose Cottage this morning.’
It’s a jolt to hear that, but I don’t show it. I don’t move.
‘I wanted to check the draft of my interview with Philip before I handed it in. Didn’t want to annoy the man who was reading my novel by misquoting him. He said the article was fine, and then he said that he had read my book and he really liked it.’
I whizz my head round to look at her.
‘That’s amazing. I’m so pleased for you,’ I say, and tears come into my eyes.
‘He’s suggested a few changes I need to make, but he really thought it was good.’
‘Wow.’
‘I didn’t see Joe,’ she says. I wasn’t going to ask. ‘But I heard him. Playing guitar upstairs. Sounded quite nice. Thought you should know that. At least he’s doing what he said and getting on with his music. At least he’s not…’ she trails off.
I nod. At least he’s not met someone else. At least not that we know of.
‘It will get better.’
I nod.
‘Your mother and I went to Glastonbury moons ago,’ Debbie Diamond says, she’s off again.
‘It was Reading!’ Mum corrects her, laughing.
‘I’m surprised you knew where you were, dear!’
‘Why?’ Philippa asks. ‘Was Mrs T off her tits?’
‘No, someone was on her tits though!’ She whoops.
‘Debbie!’ Mum gasps.
‘Ooh, she met a lovely man, didn’t you, Pam?’
‘Mum, you’re blushing. Is this that Lawrence chap?’ It’s the first thing I’ve properly said to everyone. My voice has shocked everyone else into silence.
‘Yes,’ Mum acknowledges.
‘Oh, he was a good ’un. Was that his name? Lawrence?’
‘Yes, yes, I think it was. Yes.’
‘Lost him, she did. Had a weekend of wicked sex and then couldn’t find his tent. My fault, though, really because I made you join me on the Sunday to see that terrible folk duo. Sorry.’
‘Oh, you know, that’s life.’
‘Hmm. Then she gets home and marries your father.’
‘We all make mistakes,’ I say and it occurs to me that I probably shouldn’t refer to my mother’s twenty-seven-year marriage as a mistake. But my comment makes my mum and Debbie laugh, no howl. But then they both stop suddenly and sigh in absolute unison and that makes them laugh again.
Philippa nudges me. ‘Is this what we’ll be like?’ She smiles.
‘I hope so.’ I smile back. Although without the twenty-seven-year lapse in friendship, I think. God, I shiver, life without Philippa, it actually doesn’t bear thinking about. I squeeze her hand.
My phone buzzes. Joe? That’s what I always think when my phone buzzes. When will that stop? I wonder. It’s from Matt.
Please, please, don’t throw this away. We can make it work. I need you, Fan. Please let’s talk.
He’s been texting a lot. I haven’t texted back. Yet.
‘You should try and find him again now you’re single!’ Debbie shouts. ‘Oh, Marge, services in three miles, can we stop so I can have a fag? Yes! Pam, let’s search for Lawrence the Lovely.’
‘Debbie, you genius!’ Philippa is bouncing up and down on the seat. ‘Pam, write down exactly what you remember about him and we can circulate it in an email, to be forwarded on and on to everyone’s friends. Looking for Lawrence, we’ll call it! I’ll bet we could get an article about it in the press somewhere, someone’s bound to know him.’
‘Philippa! That’s it!’ Debbie claps her hands together. ‘Oh, do you see the exit for the services there, Marge?’
Marge nods and flicks down the indicator.
We park in the service station car park, and just as Debbie puts her hand on the door handle to get out for a ciggie, my mum begins speaking. Her voice is quiet but her tone is strong.
‘Girls, I don’t want to find Lawrence. It’s passed and done now. We were obviously meant to lose each other that day, for whatever reason. Searching for him feels wrong. Some things are meant to be lost.’
Perhaps there is something in the certainty of her delivery, but no one tries to persuade her otherwise.
Chapter 59
‘Ladies! Ladies! Ladies!’ I shout, uncrossing my legs and standing up. I wipe some grass off the back of my legs and sway a bit against someone’s guy rope. ‘I would like to make a speech.’
Everyone looks a little startled because I’ve only really spoken to Philippa today. But I’ve been listening to them all.
‘I just want to say, firstly, ladies…’ I sweep my gaze around the circle, looking at Debbie Diamond in the truly hideous Rasta hat she purchased earlier, as a substitute because she hasn’t been able to source any weed, at my mum glowing from booze and sunburn and dancing and catching up with an old friend, at Marge who’s already snogged the fella in the next tent, and at Philippa, my beautiful, beautiful friend, who’s held my hand all day while we’ve walked from stage to stage and from tent to tent and who is going to become a famous author. Woah, moving my head li
ke that has made me a little wobbly.
‘First of all, let’s just toast this lovely pear cider!’
‘Lovely pear cider!’ they whoop.
‘So, I would just like to make a little speech, because I haven’t said much up till this point and this isn’t normally how I am. But, ladies, I would just like to say, thank you. Thank you for forcing me to come away, and thank you, Al, who isn’t here, for lifting me into the car earlier, and thank you all for putting up with me and making me feel soooooo much better. Marge, thank you for insisting we sit and talk about all the awful things men have done to us and thank you Debbie, for holding the floor on this particular subject for so long. Much obliged. Feeling so much better.’ Debbie has never been afraid to love and, blimey, she’s loved some toads, one bloke got her pregnant, pressured her to have an abortion because he said he didn’t want kids, then left Debbie and had a baby with someone else. Debbie’s never had children. She held my face, with tears in her eyes, and said, ‘I never had a beautiful daughter like you, Jenny,’ and then she kissed my forehead. Debbie is the awesomest, I am so glad she’s Mum’s friend. I could hang out with her all the time. ‘And Philippa, the amazingest, wonderfullest person on the planet, I love you sooooooo much, and Mum, my lovely mum, I never, ever in ten billion years – whoops, sorry,’ I shout to the people whose tent I’ve just lurched into. ‘Mum, never, ever did I think we’d be here at a festival having this much fun. And I love this little army we have created. So, ladies. Lady army, I thank you, I love you and now I’d better sit down or I am liable to have these poor people’s tent over.’
I’ve had a bit of an epiphany today. When I took to my bed before, when Steve Wilmot had humiliated me and Dad made me feel worse, when I took to my bed in Philippa’s house for ages, it was only really Philippa that kept me going. But now, I have Mum and Philippa and Marge and Al, and Debbie, I hope, she’s invited me to come and stay at her house in Edinburgh any time and I’m going to take her up on that, and go to the Edinburgh Festival one day. But I realised today that I’ve got a pack of lovely people around me now. And that’s what life’s all about, and even though I won’t be falling for any gorgeous musicians again, the likes of Joe King and Steve Wilmot can’t hurt me, not when I’ve got Mum and Philippa and so many great people about me. God, I love pear cider.
Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy Page 25