My Best Friend's Life

by Shari Low

  She picked up the first page and started to read, defiantly ignoring the two big fat tears that splodged onto the page. The lack of sleep was obviously playing havoc with her emotions. Yep, that had to be it.

  Eight hours, four toilet breaks, three sandwich runs and a couple more teary outbursts later she reached THE END.

  And it was…it was…it was Mitch. It was honest, it was funny, it was clumsy, it was messy. There were bits that made absolutely no sense and there were little snippets of brilliance that had made her laugh until she cried. It was warm, it was adorable. It was…She missed him.

  She missed him.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  She reached over to the knob beside her bed and flicked on the music system, turning it up just loud enough so that her moment of abject mournfulness wasn’t played out to the backdrop of her flatmate’s headboard banging against the wall. It was a wonder that six-foot slab of oak wasn’t kindling by now.

  She missed him. Hang on, was this some kind of reverse, petulant psychology at play because he was now the other half of her evil arch nemesis?

  Or was it because she was lying here at midnight, on her own, while the shagging Olympics took place next door?

  She could always go and join them, but somehow the idea didn’t appeal. She realised that she suddenly felt exactly the same way as she did when she knew she should go out for a jog, but, quite frankly, couldn’t be arsed.

  Was that what sex had become? Relegated to the category of ‘physical exercise’, somewhere in between pilates and a run around the village, stopping only when her thighs began to chafe?

  She didn’t want a workout, she wanted good company. She wanted to talk. She wanted conversations that didn’t include the words dick, cock or clitoris.

  She wanted…She had absolutely no idea what she wanted. But she knew, definitely knew, that she never wanted to spend another Saturday night lying in bed alone listening to a screeching, ‘Come on, baby, fuck me till I break.’

  She turned the music up a little louder. ‘Come on baby…harder!’

  Louder.

  ‘Oh, Jude…’

  Louder.

  ‘Oh, Jude…’

  Louder.

  Oh…crap.

  The realisation made her tremble like a shelf in Ann Summers.

  All this time she’d been so sure she was in control. So sure that she could handle what she was doing, so sure that coming here was the right thing to do.

  But now, she knew. She knew. Because Ginny Wallis, for the first time in her life, was feeling a rising, thundering, all-encompassing wave of sheer, bitter, spitting jealousy.

  Aaaargh! She wanted to stick her head out of a window and scream. She wanted to rage. She wanted to throw things against the wall.

  Laidback, accepting, mild-mannered, che-sara-fucking-sara Ginny was gone, chased out of town by a big green monster–albeit one with an open-minded, experimental view of sexual relations.

  She pushed herself out of bed and wandered through to the kitchen, her cheeks burning with indignation.

  Fuck it. Fuck it. And she didn’t ever say that word. But…Fuck it.

  She was sitting at the kitchen island, her frothy cappuccino almost finished, when she heard the front door close and there he was, standing in the doorway, just a towel around his waist, with only the moonlight illuminating him.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Was that Goldie leaving?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s got an early flight. She’s gone home to pack.’

  He opened the fridge and, yep, right on cue she got that tingle in the pit of her stomach.

  He pulled out a beer and popped the top of the bottle, then climbed on the stool next to her. Another unusual threesome: Ginny, Jude and Silence.

  ‘So, do you want to hear something really weird?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You know earlier you asked if I was okay with all of this? Well…I don’t think I am.’

  Silence.

  And it lasted until Ginny absorbed and processed what he’d just said. And then a little bit longer than that, because the emotions that were tumbling inside of her had her vocal cords in a siege situation. Jude reached over and touched her face.

  ‘I’m not okay with it. I was lying next door with Goldie…’

  ‘Yep, I heard.’

  He had the decency to look bashful. ‘Sorry about that. But that’s my point. I was lying there with Goldie and all I could think about was you. And not in the same kind of way as last night.’

  Her face took flushed to a whole new level.

  ‘Just you. Ginny, I’ve never felt this way before and it’s freaking me out. And I…I…’

  ‘Hold on, I just need to check something,’ she interrupted, as she leaned towards him and slowly, tenderly, her lips touched his.

  Her hands automatically came up and lost themselves in the thickness of his hair. Her lips parted now, her tongue meeting his as their breathing became deeper, deeper…

  The doorbell sounded so loud it could be announcing the imminence of Armageddon.

  Jude jumped off his seat first. ‘Shit, Goldie must have forgotten something.’

  As soon as he’d left, her head flopped down onto the granite counter and she pressed her wrists against the cold stone too. She’d heard somewhere that if you chill your pulse points your heart rate will slow down, and right now anything was worth a try.

  She knew. Her instincts finally kicked in and they’d been right, and this was all going to be so complicated and so emotional and so weird, and she was going to have to change everything–her life, her job, her home…And, breathe, breathe…How could this happen? How could this happen?

  ‘Ginny?’

  How could this…

  She bolted upright, the shock making her wobble.

  ‘Mitch! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to get you.’

  She didn’t understand. How did he–

  ‘It’s Vera. I’m really sorry, Ginny, but she’s had a heart attack. They’ve rushed her to a hospital near the theatre, and I know things aren’t great with you and Roxy but she’s gone straight to the hospital and she needs you there. And so does your mum. We need to move fast, Gin, because it’s, it’s not good, Ginny–they don’t know how long she’s got.’

  St Joseph’s Chapel, Farnham Hills

  Dear Mam,

  Thanks very much for the package. The gloves and scarf are great and, no, you’d never know they weren’t bought from a shop. That knitting machine is the best thing you ever bought.

  Uncle Niall is doing well–working day and night and he’s not been to the dog track this month at all. Mrs Dodds is taking good care of him, although her hip has been giving her jip again and she’s not one for hiding her pain.

  And yes, I do know I don’t write enough, but to be honest, Mam, it’s all been a bit frantic lately. We’ve got a new visitor to the village–a girl called Roxy who is the cousin of Ginny. She’s really nice and we’ve been having a great craic.

  Ginny has gone off to London for a couple of weeks and it’s not the same here without her. The only change there is that she’s not going out with that fitness bloke any more. Mam, stop dancing before you do yourself an injury.

  I still can’t believe Uncle Niall told you how I felt about her…I was under the impression that anything told to a priest was confidential.

  Anyway, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I am going to ask her out now that there’s no risk of her boyfriend killing me. If you saw him you’d realise that was a genuine possibility.

  Don’t go buying the big hat and the new frock just yet though, because she hasn’t said yes. But keep your fingers crossed that she does. A few prayers in the right direction probably wouldn’t do any harm–you must have a few favours owed there after everything you do for the convent!

  You take care of yourself now, and remember to keep watching the cholesterol like Doctor Flynn said.

 
Much love,

  Mitch

  NINETEEN

  If You Leave Me Now

  Ginny and Roxy. Day 22, Sunday, noon

  Through the large, oblong window, Roxy and Ginny watched Vera, still lying in the bed that had transported her back from surgery, with a spaghetti-bowl of wires coming from different parts of her body and connecting her to machines that beeped, ticked, swooshed, pumped and made mathematical graphs on a little screen.

  A nurse bustled back and forward between the room and reception, eyeing the girls suspiciously every time she passed. Roxy wasn’t surprised. After all, Ginny’s arrival the night before had been relatively low-key…compared to, say, a fifty-strong SWAT team storming a foreign embassy.

  Mitch had been first through the door and Roxy had jumped up and leapt into his arms. ‘Mitch, she’s sick, she’s really, really…’ Then Roxy had spotted the other face right behind him. She’d wondered where Mitch had disappeared to–he’d been gone far too long just to be nipping out for coffees and fresh air.

  And then Ginny was coming towards her, arms outstretched, tears streaming down her face. Closer, closer, she was almost right in front of her when…

  ‘Noooooo, don’t touch me, you traitorous bitch!’

  Roxy had started flailing, her hands lashing out, swiping at every bit of hurt and anger and loathing that had been growing inside her for weeks.

  ‘I don’t want you here, I DON’T WANT YOU…’

  Ginny’s hands were around Roxy’s arms, holding them tightly, desperately trying to stem the blows. ‘Roxy, don’t do this. Babe, please! Don’t do this!’ she’d sobbed.

  Roxy had wailed and pushed her away, propelling Ginny backwards until she hit the corridor wall. And that’s when she’d seen it. It was hanging over Ginny’s T-shirt, a mirror image of her own. The surprise had stopped her in her tracks and she’d stared at it. The other half of her heart.

  Her tears had been silent by then, flowing down her face faster than her sleeve could absorb them. ‘My heart,’ she’d whispered.

  Ginny’s expression had changed from horror to puzzlement, then to understanding as she’d realised what Roxy had seen. Of course…Hadn’t Vera and Vi given them the same birthday present every year of their lives? Twenty-seven years of joint parties, joint presents, joint lives. And now their mothers had just given them a gift that proved what they’d always known–they were two halves that belonged together.

  Even if one of those halves wanted to kick the crap out of the other.

  ‘Don’t, Roxy, please,’ Ginny had whispered. That was when Roxy had slumped backwards, all her aggression gone, allowing Ginny to move forwards and take her in her arms, where she’d stayed, her face nestled into Ginny’s hair, until Mitch had gently guided them back to the row of orange plastic seats.

  And that’s where they still sat, watching Vera through the window. Just watching. And waiting.

  Sitting to Vera’s left, clutching the hand that didn’t have three probes dangling from it, was Violet, tears streaming down her face, her lips moving, talking incessantly to her unconscious friend, while a doctor made notes in a chart beside her.

  Roxy stood up, crossed to the window pulled the sleeve of her hoodie down over her hand and then used it to wipe away another shower of tears that were coursing down her cheeks. She leaned against the wall, then slid down it until she was in the foetal position, her hands clasped round her knees.

  ‘She can’t die, Ginny. She can’t die. She can’t. It’s like, like I’m only just getting to know her and if she dies then…’ Her whole body was racked with convulsions as the sobs stopped the oxygen from reaching her lungs.

  ‘She’s not going to die, honey, she won’t. The doctors said the surgery went okay…’

  ‘But that the next few hours will be crucial!’ Roxy cried. ‘Why didn’t they say she was going to be fine, Ginny? She can’t leave me. She can’t.’

  Ginny crouched down beside Roxy and pulled her towards her.

  ‘Ssssh, Rox, ssssshhh, it’s going to be okay. I promise it’ll be okay. Do you want to go back in there again?’

  Roxy wiped away more snot as she shook her head and whispered, ‘No, s’okay. Let your mum stay for a while, it’s time she got her turn. Fucking stupid rules. One person to a bed. Are they worried we’ll break out the cocktails and have a party?’ Ginny squeezed Roxy a little tighter, aware that Roxy’s way of dealing with this alternated between distraught, overwhelmed, needy and angry, interspersed with very occasional moments of poignant sweetness.

  The door opened, and as the consultant doctor came out, Roxy and Ginny jumped to their feet. He was tall, late fifties, with very distinguished grey hair and the kind of upright reserved manner that sat somewhere between confidence, arrogance and delusions of omnipresence.

  ‘Miss Galloway?’

  ‘Yes,’ Roxy replied fearfully.

  ‘We’ve switched your mother’s ventilator off…’

  The wail was so loud that the relatives of several coma patients on the same floor would later swear that their loved ones had twitched.

  ‘Miss Galloway. MISS GALLOWAY! She’s breathing on her own.’

  Roxy stopped abruptly. ‘You mean…she’s not dead?’

  ‘She’s not dead. The next few hours are still very important, but so far she’s doing as well as can be expected.’

  He marched off down the corridor to traumatise some other poor, unsuspecting family.

  ‘Come on, hon, why don’t we go down to the canteen and get some tea? She’s stable now and you’re worn out. We’ll ask the nurse to buzz straight down for us if anything changes or she needs you,’ Ginny coaxed gently.

  Roxy thought about it for a few seconds then touched her hand to the window.

  ‘I won’t be long, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t go dying on me.’

  They took the elevator down to the floor below and followed signs for the restaurant. It was something of an exaggeration–twenty oblong Formica tables, orange plastic chairs, a few vending machines and one small serving hatch with a large half-empty fruit basket, a tea urn, a coffee machine and three glass domes covering an array of rolls and sandwiches.

  ‘Aw, look at him,’ Roxy whispered, pointing to a corner table.

  There, his head cushioned by a rolled-up jacket on the table, was Mitch, sleeping soundly.

  ‘Shall we wake him?’

  ‘No, just leave him, he’s been up all night and he must be knackered. I told him to go home when we got here but he wouldn’t have it,’ Ginny revealed.

  For the first time that day, Roxy smiled. ‘He’s a good man. Stubborn, but good.’

  The knot in Ginny’s stomach tightened. Everything had changed now. Only a few hours before she’d been so sure of what she wanted. She’d had to kiss Jude that last time just to be sure and it had proved her right–she was still thinking about Mitch. (Okay, and maybe she’d just wanted to snog that delicious mouth again, but come on, who could blame her?) That’s when she’d decided that she had to tell him, and to hell with how Roxy felt. After all, Roxy had slid off the moral high ground while clutching Darren’s penis. But now…now everything was different.

  They served themselves some tea and put a few pound coins in the honesty box, then sat at the table next to Mitch, both of them silent at first. The passing of the first wave of trauma had left them drained and displaced, and now they weren’t sure how long they’d have to hold their breaths before the next one came.

  Ginny caved first. ‘It’s good that they’ve got each other, isn’t it?…Our mothers,’ she replied to Roxy’s questioning look. ‘I wonder what my mum was saying to her up there.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What’s my mother got to be sorry about?’ Ginny replied, puzzled.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I’ve been hating you, really hating you lately, and–although I had good reason–I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here.’

  Even if Jude had just walked in, dressed as a doctor, and proceeded to
strip while singing the Holby City theme tune, Ginny wouldn’t have been more surprised.

  Roxy was apologising?

  They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘Okay, I can’t stand it any more,’ Roxy said eventually. ‘If we’re going to be here for hours then we need to talk, so you go first.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rox, it’s just that, you know, under the circumstances, nothing seems appropriate.’

  ‘Ginny, my mother just keeled over during the opening act of The Vagina Monologues so I think we can safely say “fuck appropriate”. I’m going to go crazy if I have to sit here in silence, so can we just be us? Talk about anything. Anything. Tell me what’s been happening at the Seismic, tell me about Jude, tell me about anything.’

  ‘Tell me about Darren,’ Ginny blurted. Shit, she hadn’t meant to do that. It was the last thing she wanted to bring up now.

  Roxy sighed, then, after a few moments of pondering the question, matched Ginny’s gaze.

  ‘I gave him a blow job.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘Yeah, well you deserved it for fucking Felix.’

  Ginny groaned. ‘I did not sleep with Felix!’

  Roxy took a deep breath, ready to launch into a nuclear offensive.

  ‘He thought I was you, you daft cow!’ Ginny blurted.

  Nuclear mission aborted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was in your bed, I was sleeping, he let himself in with his key, stripped off, climbed into bed, felt me up, then he realised it was me and freaked out–which was not only very unfortunate, but also very unflattering.’

  Roxy’s eyes were the size of side-plates. ‘You are kidding me! And what happened next?’

  ‘Jude kicked him out.’ Ginny melted just a little. Jude. He’d been so sweet that night.

  ‘So you didn’t…?’

  ‘No penetration. Zilch. No sex, no exchange of fluids, and no big, dramatic affair.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

  ‘Rox, what part of all that didn’t you get? He ambushed me, it was a huge mistake, and he was as horrified as me. When he was with you he was a twat, when he did that to me he was a twat, and it’s a pretty safe bet that he’s still a twat. I could quite happily pop my clogs without ever setting eyes on him again.’