‘Jenny, are you all right?’ Matt asks, turning the volume down slightly.
‘Hmmm, course,’ I say, but I can feel that the area under my eyes is a little wet.
Chapter 63
‘Al?’ I knock lightly on his door.
‘FanTastic! Where you been?’ he shouts cheerfully. I hear a few clomps, then the door opens and his smiling face appears. The smile quickly drops to a frown.
‘What’s up, beautiful?’
‘Nothing. Can I have a word?’
‘Course, come in. I was just trying to give it a tidy. Gemma might be… well, you know, don’t want to expect it, but she might want to come back tonight and if she does…’
‘You want it to be nice for her.’
‘Yes. What’s up, Fan? Still Joe King?’
‘No. No, I’m fine.’
‘I ran into him yesterday, Fan. I hadn’t called him, you know, I liked the guy but what he did to you was unforgivable, if you ask me. Anyway, we were in the supermarket yesterday evening, looking at microwavable curries at the same time. Sad bastards. He looked dreadful, Fan. I don’t get the bloke. He said he’d been doing his music. Crazy musicians, eh?’
‘Hmmm. I’m, um, I’m OK. I’m back with Matt.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is he going to twat me again?’
‘No, sorry about that.’
‘Fan, I’ll take a punch for you till the day I die.’
‘Thanks. But I hope you don’t have to again.’
‘So… Wow’ – he sits on the bed – ‘Matt.’
‘Hmmm. The wedding’s back on.’
‘Oh, well, congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile sadly and fiddle with my ring.
‘I don’t know whether Matt will want me at the wedding.’
‘Oh.’ That hadn’t occurred to me. But I couldn’t do it without Al. I might not even have Philippa there! ‘Al, you have to come, please!’ I’m aware of the panic in my voice.
‘Yeah, course. Can’t not see you walk down the aisle,’ his comforting voice calms me.
‘Thank you.’
‘You look sad, Fan.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll perk up soon. Just some big adjustments. But it’s right to get back with Matt, of that I’m sure. The only thing is, well, I’ll be moving out.’
‘Oh?’
‘Hmmmm.’
‘I suppose you would be, yeah.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘End of an era, eh?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Bloody good era, Fan, I’ve loved living with you.’
‘Me too.’
‘God, we’ve had some laughs, haven’t we?’
I nod. ‘Can Mum stay here? For the time being anyway, till we work out what we’ll all do.’
‘Yeah, course.’
‘Do you think I could have a hug?’
‘Any time.’
I walk into his open arms, he closes them tightly. It’s the longest hug we’ve ever had.
I leave Al and head towards my room. Mum’s room. I knock on the door.
‘Mum?’ I call. There’s no answer. ‘Mum?’
I gently open the door. She’s not here. I walk in, kick my shoes off and lie down on my bed. I look about my room. I was so proud when I moved in here. It felt like such an achievement to be able to afford to move out and share a flat, even if it was above a kebab shop in Tiddlesbury. Rather than recovering from a breakdown at my friend’s dad’s house, moving into a flat share felt like something that I should be doing. Yes, I was proud and excited, but nervous too, hence the Smiling Manifesto pinned to the back of the bedroom door, it’s currently covered by a year planner because I didn’t want Mum to see it and I worried I’d rip it if I took it down. The nerves vanished quite quickly when I got here, though, because everything was so much fun: Fashion Fridays, nights at Bomber, the Tiddlesbury Tours, Musketeer Missions, clothes, comedy, dancing, everything, it was all so much fun. The end of an era. You’ve got to grow up sooner or later.
I look about me. Matt doesn’t have room for all my clothes, I know that without asking. Perhaps I could put some in storage, but will I even need them all now? Will Philippa and I carry on with Fashion Fridays? Oh, I hope so. It feels as though everything is ending just because I’m moving out and marrying Matt, but it doesn’t need to. In a day or two I’ll get some bin bags and start seeing if there are some clothes I could do without, try to get used to the idea of parting with them.
I climb off the bed and look at my rail of black clothes. I’m sure Matt will want me in a black dress for his work party. I pull out the more conservative of them and lay them on the bed. As I pull one from the rail the black T-shirt dress with the heart on it falls to the floor. I pick it up, hold it to my nose and sniff. I want it to smell of Joe King, but it just smells of log fire. I toss the dress into the rubbish bin across the room. Then I try on a fitted black cocktail dress. I’ve always liked the simplicity of this dress. Normally I’d team it with a black-and-white animal-print belt and my pink hair. But I think Matt will prefer it without the belt. I look in the mirror and try to imagine me with brown hair again. I haven’t had brown hair for years. But I probably should go back to my natural colour at some point, dying it brown will be the first step. I’m surprised I’ve got any hair left, I’ve dyed it so many times.
I kneel on the floor and feel under the bed for a shoebox. I pull it out. Then I sit on the floor and take the lid off. It’s my box of memories, old letters and photos, bits I didn’t want to throw away. I flick through the pictures, loads of Philippa and me in our Fashion Friday outfits. One taken on the night we met Matt, when we were dressed as air hostesses. Our big smiles look like we’re about to have a very good night. I take that one out to keep. I flick through more. So many big smiles. We start to look younger and younger, until I see one of us in the burgundy Tiddlesbury Remand uniform. Here we are. There’s me with brown hair. Philippa’s dad took this photo, I remember it clearly. We were revising for exams in the garden. We’re lying on our tummies on the grass, surrounded by books and empty crisp packets, smiling and squinting slightly in the sun. It was pre me sleeping with Steve Wilmot, and I look almost carefree. I’d been offered a place at a performing arts college. Philippa had already been offered a trainee position on the Tiddlesbury Times. I wonder what that young girl, Jenny Taylor, would say to see me now. I wonder if she’d be disappointed if she met me. I look at her. She had thought the worst was over. Poor thing. I rummage further in the box, I come across the two well-worn photos of Steve Wilmot that I’d cut from the school magazine, and just one photo of Mum, Dad and me. I sit back and look at this one.
‘Wow,’ I whisper. You absolutely wouldn’t recognise the woman in the photos as my mum now. She’s holding my dad’s hand, her head is bent down and her eyes are turned up to the camera. It makes her look meek. She’s smiling, but her eyes look glazed, like she’s somewhere else entirely. Oh, Mum, were you really so unhappy? So unhappy for years and years? I think of who she is now, with her Victoria Beckham bob and her penchant for a bit of rough. Was this woman suppressed under this lady in the photo all the time? I was so unhappy at home, it never occurred to me that anyone else might be. I sigh.
I hear a door slamming in the hall. I put the photos back in the box.
‘Oh, there you are!’ It’s Philippa. ‘Look! Look!’ she throws some printed sheets of A4 paper at me. ‘That’s not all! Fan, it’s amazing.’
I pick up one of the pages and start to read.
Three years ago I was in Nunstone for the pub quiz at The Nags Head with some friends. I went up to the bar and bought us a bottle of wine then I came back to the table and we drank the wine and struggled to complete the IMPOSSIBLE general knowledge round. When I returned home that night I found a note in my bag. It was written on a pretty card. I have NO IDEA how it came to be in my bag (my friend is convinced it had something to do with a girl who asked us where the loos were – but she wa
s nowhere near my bag!).
Anyway the note said after you bought a bottle of wine tonight the barman who served you turned to his colleague and said, ‘She is the most beautiful girl who comes in here.’ Thought you should know.
Cutting a long story short, we’re getting married in November and would very much like to thank the angel who left that note.
‘Philippa! They’re getting married! Do you remember them? She was proper gorgeous too. Tiny thing! Oh, my God!’
‘I know!’
‘Oh, my God!’
‘I know!’
I look at her and we both giggle.
‘Amazing.’ I shake my head. I pick up another.
I used to park in the same place for work every morning. One day I returned to my car and found something underneath my windscreen wiper. It was an envelope with the words OPEN ME! I’M NICE on the front. So I opened it and inside was a little card which said Hello, I am a little note to say that you look like a lovely person – every day you make all the people you say good morning to smile.
I’ve still got the note. It’s stuck on my bathroom mirror. It reminds me to smile and be friendly when I wake up feeling grumpy and wanting to go back to bed.
‘Ah, she used to park round the corner from the surgery. I was one of the people she would say good morning to. She doesn’t park there any more. I miss her on my walk to work.’
I pick up another.
When I was going through my divorce last year, I felt too down to join my workmates for lunch so I would sit by myself on a bench in town eating my sandwiches. One day I found a note on the bench when I arrived, labelled For the lady who sits and eats her lunch here, it said Sorry to see you crying – I would have come over and offered you a hug but I didn’t want to scare you – so this is a less scary version of a big hug – may the bad days quickly pass.
I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. And the bad days did pass.
‘Oh, bless her, she was getting a divorce. I wondered why she looked so sad,’ I say.
‘There’s more, Fan! The paper wants to publish them. Disgruntled Dave is beside himself. Although, he’s saying he may want us to do something about it on camera. I don’t know what we should do about that. You know, what with us being the ones sending the notes.’
‘Yeah, bit of a mess that. I still can’t believe that couple are getting married because we sent her a note,’ I exclaim.
Philippa’s face drops as soon as I mention the word ‘married’. It doesn’t just drop, it visibly twists itself into an expression of fury.
‘Oh, here you are, girls!’ It’s Mum, she’s smiling and she’s carrying a few unopened letters and an Oxfam bag. ‘Oh, you girls, I’ve had the most wonderful day, I spoke to an agent about you two, I sent him the Tiddlesbury Tour. Oh, he was such a nice man, I felt as if I’d known him for years. He likes the DVD! He’s going to invite you in for a meeting, he might take you on and get you presenting work,’ she chatters on. But she stops suddenly as soon as she glimpses Philippa properly.
‘Philippa, what on earth’s the matter?’
‘I was just thinking about Fan marrying Matt.’ Philippa’s jaw is rigid. Even my mum’s amazing news about us possibly meeting an agent hasn’t distracted her from her fury.
‘Ah.’ Mum nods.
‘What do you think, Mrs T?’
‘Well…’ she says very gently. ‘Well, ultimately it’s Jenny’s decision…’
Philippa’s nodding, her jaw still clenched tight. I’ve rarely seen her like this in all the years I’ve known her. I think I’ve only seen it once, when she didn’t want her mum to move to America. My beautiful friend Philippa, turned ugly by rage.
‘Philippa, stop it,’ I say, standing up and trying to reach out to her. ‘Mum’s just told us some really good news.’
‘I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!’ she shouts.
‘Just be my friend, please,’ I plead.
‘HOW CAN I?’ she screams, and quickly spins round and storms out of the flat.
I look at Mum. She opens her mouth as if to say something.
‘Please, Mum, I don’t want to fall out with you about this again. I’m marrying Matt, don’t say anything against it. Please, I couldn’t bear it,’ I say quickly.
Thankfully my mum nods and doesn’t say whatever it was she was planning to.
Chapter 64
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Matt says, kissing my shoulder as I stand wrapped in a towel looking at myself in the mirror. I’ve just dried my brown hair for the first time, ready for Matt’s work do tonight.
‘So weird,’ I say, staring at my reflection. ‘It hasn’t been like this for years.’
‘It suits you,’ he says. ‘You’re naturally beautiful as you are.’
I smile at him in the mirror, but he’s already heading into the bathroom.
Maybe it does suit me, but I feel like someone I don’t know. I don’t even recognise myself. It’s the strangest sensation. I can’t help but feel that this is the face that looked back at me in the mirror when I was depressed. I so don’t want to be that girl again. Mind you, it always takes a while to adjust to a new colour.
‘I really want to put on a hat.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Matt calls from the bathroom.
‘No, it wouldn’t go with the orange backless number I’m wearing.’
‘Very funny. Fan, Jen, you need to be ready to go in half an hour.’
‘Yep.’
‘I mean it, Jen. Can’t be late for the reception drinks.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m just getting in the shower.’
I blow breath through my lips and wander to the window of Matt’s bedroom. My bedroom, I suppose, although it doesn’t feel like it yet. I look out at the car park and the high gates at the entrance to the development, and the field beyond it. Then I blow my breath through my lips again and step into my very plain, conservative dress and I don’t add the animal-print belt. Then I walk back to the mirror to apply make-up.
‘Who are you?’ I find myself whispering to the girl in the glass.
Chapter 65
‘See, it’ll make a great venue for the wedding,’ Matt says.
‘Hmmm.’ I try to smile, I really do. But I’m just not feeling it. We’re walking along a corridor lined with framed pictures of men in horrible jumpers. The last thing this place says is party. The only fun party you could have here would involve desecrating it – with the right combination of people and booze, these gentlemen’s faces would end up covered in marker-penned willies and people would play naked midnight golf before bonking in the bunkers. That would have been just the sort of wedding that Philippa and I would have enjoyed, before all this. But I guess my and Matt’s wedding will be a bit more traditional.
Oh well, it’s just a day. At least they’ll do the clearing up.
Matt’s holding my arm as he steers me into the unimaginatively titled Function Room. It’s as horrible as I knew it would be: white tablecloths that stretch to the floor and those horrible narrow chairs with carpet on the back crammed around circular tables. Lining every wall are plaques full of club members’ names and lists of etiquette. It screams rules and regulations. Oh well, at least there’s a disco set up and a dance floor cleared, I’ll have a little dance later. That’ll perk me up. I wonder what Philippa’s up to this evening.
‘Smile, Jenny, you’re on show,’ Matt says, just before we stop in front of a young chap holding a tray of drinks. I wonder whether this was the bloke who asked to touch Philippa’s boob at the Doris ambush. I smile to think about it.
‘That’s better,’ says Matt. ‘We shouldn’t have too much booze. Grave error getting wasted at the work do. So we can have a drink now or save it until later.’
‘I don’t suppose you do Jägerbombs?’ I ask the young man.
‘I wish.’ He laughs. Yes, I bet he was the boob feeler.
‘J-e-n,’ says Matt, and looks about him to check no one heard.
&n
bsp; I take a glass of champagne. I feel like getting wasted. I feel like drinking so much I can’t think, but I’ll make do with this one glass of champagne.
‘Jen, don’t flirt with the waiting staff,’ he whispers, leading me away. ‘Right, we’ll greet from the top, Jenny. Are you ready?’
‘I am very ready and at your service,’ I say, and then take quite a gulp.
‘Right, Mr Neville first, ah, damn, he’s just started chatting to someone.’
We stand still for a moment. I can sense Matt wondering where to go next. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a very attractive older lady walking quickly towards us. I turn towards her. Wow. She takes good care of herself. She has a figure that she’s obviously sweated to get, and a strong face with prominent cheekbones and a sleek jawline, covered perfectly with what I bet is hideously expensive make-up. She’s tanned and turned out and oozing an aura of money. She’s probably in her late forties, I must look like a clumsy girl next to her.
‘Matt, darling.’ She smiles.
‘Moira!’ Matt says, and he kisses her on both cheeks. ‘This is Jenny.’
‘Ah, Jenny.’ She says my name as though she’s heard a lot about me. She’s giving me the once over. I stand still and smile.
‘Lovely to meet you, Moira.’
‘Tell me, Jenny, do you ever get to see this handsome man of yours, because he works all the time.’
‘I know!’ I exclaim. ‘I keep trying to persuade him to take a sicky and stay in bed and watch telly for the day, but he’s so committed he won’t.’
Matt looks frozen. Moira gives me an odd look and then throws her head back and laughs. I decide I quite like Moira.
‘Is he wonderful in bed, darling?’ she asks me.
‘No, but he’s learning,’ I say.
Again she howls.
Matt smiles uncomfortably like a man who’s just been embarrassed in the presence of his boss.
‘I don’t mean it, darling,’ Moira says, winking at him.
‘Do you have a nice man?’ I ask.
Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy Page 27