‘New fella’s in Nottingham, is he?’ he asks, sounding fake-casual as he pulls up outside my door.
I turn in my seat to face him and reach out to stroke his bearded cheek with the back of my hand. ‘There is no fella, Scott,’ I tell him. ‘There hasn’t been a fella since you.’
‘Oh?’ Scott says again. ‘OK.’ And the optimistic shift in his intonation makes them sound like two different words this time around. ‘Do you, um, want me to come in?’
‘No, thanks,’ I say. ‘You’d better get back to . . . Jen . . . was it?’
‘Yeah,’ Scott says through a long exhalation. ‘Yeah, I suppose I’d better.’
I open the door and climb down. ‘Thanks, Scott,’ I tell him. ‘You saved my life tonight.’
He nods gently. ‘Any time,’ he says.
I close the door and he hesitates for a few seconds, staring at me through the side window, before he revs up the engine and lurches away.
I manage to walk as far as the front door before the tears return. I pull my keys from my pocket but, instead of opening the door, I turn instead and lean against it. I close my eyes and let the sadness roll down my cheeks.
After a minute or so, I let myself in to find Jude in the lounge, fiddling with his phone while watching TV with the sound turned low.
‘Mum!’ he says, jumping up and crossing the room to meet me.
‘I’m fine,’ I tell him, patting his arm. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you, but I’m fine.’
‘Is he with you?’ Jude asks, nodding towards the hallway.
‘Scott?’ I ask. ‘Oh, no, dear. No, he had to get home to . . . He had to get home.’
‘Right,’ Jude says.
‘To his girlfriend,’ I say, squinting a little as protection against more tears. ‘He, um, has a girlfriend.’
‘Yeah,’ Jude says. He sucks his bottom lip for a moment then says, ‘Jen, is it?’
‘Yes,’ I say, frowning. ‘But how did you know that?’
‘We, um, always kind of kept in touch,’ he says.
‘Oh!’ I say. This day clearly hasn’t finished surprising me.
‘I always really liked him so we . . . kept in touch. Nothing major. Just, you know, a phone call from time to time.’
‘Fair enough,’ I say, then, ‘Is she nice?’
‘Who? Jen?’
I nod.
‘I don’t know,’ Jude replies. ‘They haven’t been seeing each other long, so . . .’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘And Jess?’
‘Yeah, she’s nice,’ Jude says, deadpan.
‘I meant . . .’
‘I know,’ Jude interrupts. ‘Yeah, she turned in. She was knackered from the drive and everything. We both are, really.’
‘Yes, you must be exhausted,’ I tell him.
‘Actually, we had a bit of a tiff. Nothing major, but . . .’
‘Oh, gosh,’ I say. ‘Do you want to talk about it, or . . . ?’ I’m feeling emotionally overwrought and I could frankly do without Jude’s relationship angst tonight, but I brace myself all the same.
‘She just gets annoyed with me sometimes because I’m not as expressive as her.’
‘Expressive?’ I say.
‘Yeah, you know . . .’ Jude says. ‘Lovey-dovey and all that.’
‘Well, perhaps you need to work on that,’ I tell him. ‘If it’s important for the person you want to be with, then maybe it’s worth the effort.’
‘Yeah,’ Jude says. ‘I suppose . . . Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course,’ I say, praying that it’s not something that’s going to make me cry again.
‘You know how lovey-dovey you always were with Scott . . .’
‘Lovey-dovey?’
‘Yeah . . . you used to tell him that you loved him like a hundred times a day.’
‘I don’t think it was a hundred times a day,’ I say.
‘No,’ Jude says. ‘But you know what I mean.’
‘Sort of,’ I say. I clear my throat. ‘So, what’s the question?’
‘Did you feel stupid about it once it all went wrong? When he abandoned you, despite it all, did you feel like . . . I don’t know . . . like you’d been silly to get so soppy over him?’
‘No,’ I say, honestly surprised by the question. ‘Why?’
‘Never?’
‘No,’ I say again. ‘Why would I?’
Jude sighs. ‘I just wondered,’ he says.
‘And he didn’t abandon me, Jude,’ I say. ‘We agreed to separate. Because things had become impossible. But that didn’t take away anything from the time we had spent together. I still treasure the good times we had. The same goes for your father. All relationships end, either in separation or death. All of them. But that doesn’t make them any less worthwhile. You don’t not do things because one day they’ll have to end.’
‘No,’ Jude says. ‘No, I suppose not. Anyway, I’m knackered, so . . .’
‘Jude, I’m glad I told him I loved him. I’m glad I let him know how I felt. It’s important. Words . . . are important. Honesty is important. And you should never regret being honest.’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘OK, thanks. I’m gonna crash.’
‘I’m going to bed now, too. We’ve got an early start tomorrow, after all.’
‘Oh, God,’ Jude says. ‘Yeah, the move. Did you say ten?’
I nod. ‘Ten o’clock, sharp. But we need to get the final bits and pieces boxed up first so I’ll be up pretty early, I imagine.’
‘Right,’ Jude says, lingering in the doorway. ‘Night-night, then.’
‘Night, Jude. I love you.’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Yeah, you too.’
Once the house is silent, I climb into my bed and look at the piles of boxes around me. The main curtains having been removed and bagged up already, the room is vaguely lit by the orange glow of a distant streetlamp.
I pick up my phone from the bedside cabinet and fiddle with it thoughtfully.
I open up the call list and verify that I now have Scott’s mobile number. I add an entry with his name to the contact list, then delete it and then add it all over again.
I type, and delete, a text message to him, three times in a row. ‘I love you,’ it reads. ‘It was only ever you.’ But in the end I chastise myself for even thinking of sending it. I have, I reckon, caused enough havoc in poor Scott’s life. And now he’s seeing someone else, of course. For all that honesty is a good thing, surely this would be one of those rare occasions when I’d end up regretting it. I switch the phone off and fall quickly into a deep sleep of angst-filled dreams.
I wake up at six the next morning, a full hour before the alarm clock goes off. The first pre-dawn light is already leaking into the room.
I reach for my phone and switch it on. I check my emails and then my text messages.
I gasp. Because there, onscreen, is my message.
‘It was only ever you,’ it reads. ‘You’re The One.’
Oh God, I sent it, I think, my mouth falling open in horror. ‘No, no, no!’ I groan. ‘I didn’t send it. I’m sure I didn’t.’ But the evidence is there, on the screen. The proof is right there in front of me.
My phone vibrates and a second message adds itself to the conversation. ‘Are you awake yet?’ it says.
I rub my sleepy eyes and stare at the screen uncomprehendingly. And it’s only then that I understand that I was right. I didn’t send Scott a message at all. The text onscreen is on the left-hand side. It’s not from me at all.
My phone screen is starting to blur now, so I wipe my eyes on the duvet, and then as I focus on it once again, a third message pops up beneath the other two, and only now as I read all three from top to bottom do I begin to believe what’s happening here.
‘It was only ever you. You’re The One.’
‘Are you awake?’
‘Call me when you are. We need to talk before you go to Notts.’
I inhale sharply and cover my mouth with my hand as a fourth messag
e arrives.
‘Please. I’m still in love with you. Scott.’
Subject: Sorry
From: Zoe Fuller ([email protected])
To: Amanda Fuller ([email protected])
On: 12 June 2020 at 22:47
Subject: Sorry
Dear Mum,
I’m really sorry I haven’t been in touch. I thought about writing to you all the time, honest I did, but I just didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t till I spoke to Jude last winter, and Nick, my girlfriend, since then, that things have started to come clear in my head. Because she’s better with words than me, Nick’s helping me write this letter, too, so here goes.
I’m so ashamed of everything I’ve done, Mum. And I want to start this letter by telling you that I honestly do get how bad everything I’ve done is. And I want you to know that I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, so please don’t think that’s why I’m writing to you now. I’m not asking for anything.
I’m sure you’ve spoken to Jude by now, but Nick thinks it’s important for me to tell you myself exactly what I did and (as far as I can explain it) why.
I split you and Scott up on purpose, Mum. I was an absolute bitch, I know I was. Bitch probably isn’t a bad enough word, but I know how you hate the other one, so I won’t use it.
I wound him up, I wound you up, and then when I realised you were all getting worried that he was maybe a bit of a paedo, I did everything I could to make sure that seemed like a real possibility.
God, it’s hard writing this, Mum. I keep wanting to cry, and I can hardly breathe so I’m writing it one chunk at a time. Nick has to keep giving me hugs to calm me down.
It’s truly unforgivable, and like I said, I don’t ever expect you to forgive me.
But I do think I went a bit crazy, Mum. In fact, I bloody know I did. So maybe that’s a sort of excuse?
It just killed me when Dad left us. I don’t know why I felt the way I did, but it didn’t feel to me like he’d left you at all. It felt like he’d left me. I was so hurt that he didn’t want me, Mum. The day Dad left, the bottom fell out of my world, really.
I loved you both (I really did), but everything I did, I did for Dad. We always knew that you loved us, there was never any doubt about that, not even at the end. But with Dad it was a bit more on and off, you always felt like you had to earn it, somehow. And I only ever felt good about myself when I was in his good books.
Do you remember how I used to clean his car for him? I was thinking about that this morning, and it’s so not me to do something like that, but I used to feel really good about myself whenever I did anything for Dad, or whenever he told me I was doing well at school or looked pretty or whatever. But from when I was about ten it seemed like he was losing interest, really. I wonder sometimes whether he was already seeing Linda and starting to think about her and her kids more than us, whether that’s why it felt the way it did? It felt like he wanted to be somewhere else all the time. Do you know what I mean?
Anyway, I think that’s why I started playing up and being funny with my food and everything. I think I was trying to get his attention back. I was trying to get him to show he still cared.
When he left, I was so upset I started cutting myself with a knife. You never knew about that because I did it on my groin, just below the waistline, and I made sure that no one ever saw. I can’t really explain to you why I did that, except that when I was doing it I used to think about how Dad didn’t love me any more, and how useless I was, and how I wanted to die, so Nick says it must have been to do with feeling unloved by Dad. I’ve still got horrible scars down there to remind me. I’ll never be able to forget all the things I’ve done.
When he left, I thought he’d come back. Actually, it was more than just a thought. I believed it the way some people believe in God, if that makes any sense. It just didn’t seem to me that there could be any other way, really. But then Scott came along and I got really scared, because with him taking Dad’s place at home, and in your heart, Dad couldn’t come home any more, could he?
I started praying for Scott to just sod off and leave you. When he didn’t, I read up about how to cut his brake pipes to make him have a car accident. I even tried to find some deadly flowers out in the woods so I could poison him (I couldn’t find any – I don’t think it was the right time of year or something) and for what it’s worth, I don’t think I would really have dared even if I had found them.
Do you remember when we went to Blackpool, Mum? It was a weird day, because Scott was so nice to me that I actually started to like him. I’d been putting all my efforts into hating him, and I think we will both agree that I was pretty good at that. But I was beginning to think that he was OK that day. It was like I was running out of steam trying to hate him or something. I could feel myself caving in.
But then I saw you with Dad and it changed everything. I was up on some rubbish mouse ride with Scott, and I saw you down below, talking, and I thought you’d arranged to meet up in secret, that you’d stuck me and Scott on a ride so you could hang out with Dad. When the ride went around a second time I saw you kissing, too, and I just knew that you were going to get back together so I sort of forgot about how nice Scott was being and doubled down on trying to piss him off so much that he’d leave. It seemed like all it needed was one last push and he’d go and everything would be like before, when we were happy.
After Blackpool, you sent me to that shrink McDonald in Manchester (she was really horrible, by the way. I hated her almost as much as I hated Scott). And she gave me a grilling about what she called my ‘physical relationship’ with Scott, and I suddenly realised that everyone was worried he’d been touching me up. I was so disgusted the first time she hinted at that, Mum. I felt sick, like proper sick, when you have food poisoning. I couldn’t even eat my sausage sandwiches. I got really, really skinny then, do you remember? But you started being a bit nicer to me. You even told me you’d sort it out if Scott had ‘done something’ to me, so I thought that if I just carried on, he’d have to leave. And of course, it worked, because he did leave, and I was really, madly happy because I just knew that Dad would come home.
Only, he didn’t come home, did he? He decided he’d marry Loony Linda. I’m not sure if he ever told you this, but I threw up when he told me they were getting married. He put it down to something I’d eaten, but it wasn’t anything I’d eaten. It was just the shock of it, I think. The shock of realising that he was never coming back. The shock of realising she was pregnant, that they’d been making babies and whatever made me feel really queasy, too. Plus, the shame of it all. I wanted to die, really, because that’s when I realised what I’d done to you and Scott. And that’s when I realised it was all stupid and childish and pointless.
I felt sick all the time after that. In fact, the only time I felt a bit better was when I was smoking joints with Dwayne, this guy I was seeing on the sly. He was a delivery driver for QuickParcel, and I used to skive off school and drive around with him in his van all day. I’m not sure if you ever found out about that. Perhaps Jude told you?
Anyway, when you and Dad and Linda got chummy and started planning my big birthday surprise (which wasn’t a surprise cos Sinead told me), I asked if I could move in with him, and he said sure, why not? He was really easy-going at the beginning.
I felt so bad about everything, Mum, so ashamed. I felt like I was drowning in shame or something. But I couldn’t just tell you to go and get Scott back, could I? Not without admitting to what I’d done. And I was way too scared to do that, Mum. I thought you’d kill me if you knew. Actually, I thought you’d disown me, which was worse.
So I asked Dwayne if I could stay with him for a bit.
You mustn’t blame him for any of this. He was really nice to me, Mum, honest he was. And until the police turned up at his house that first time, he thought I was eighteen because that’s what I’d told him.
I had a pretty bad time after that, Mum. Things were really, really a
wful, actually.
Everywhere I stayed things turned to sh*t, really. Dwayne’s creepy dad tried it on with me, so we had to leave there. We went to his mum’s place in Bristol, which meant that he had to change jobs, and the new one didn’t work out. I couldn’t find a proper job, just a few hours here and there in a chippy. So I got really bored and started hanging out with some real losers. I did some really stupid things in Bristol, Mum, but I don’t think I want to tell you about them now, or perhaps ever. And then, when I left, things got even worse. I was scared and lonely and hungry sometimes, too. I had to sleep with some guys I didn’t really want to and I slept under the pier in Blackpool a couple of times too. There were loads of junkies there and it was really scary and I wanted to come home so much, but I was too ashamed. So I just sat there under the pier and cried. I just want you to know that when I met Nick in Blackpool, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because she saved me, Mum. She really did. She gave me somewhere to stay and bought me clothes and fed me (never easy, as you know!) and helped me get back on my feet, and all for nothing in return.
We’re still together, and still in France. My email address is above in case you want to write back, but don’t worry if you don’t. I’m not expecting much. I’d totally understand if you want to disown me or whatever and forget about me for ever more. God, it makes me breathless to even think about the fact that maybe I’ll never see any of you again.
Nick lost her teaching job recently, and so we’re thinking of moving back home, but we can’t really decide where to go. Nick grew up in a hippy commune in Scotland (she doesn’t like me calling it that, but that’s what it is) and we could go there, but I don’t want to really. Not for long, at any rate. Nick’s mum lives there and she’s nice, but I don’t think I’m cut out for communal living. That’s what Nick says, anyway.
I kind of thought about moving back to Buxton, but I know you’re not there any more, or maybe to London to be near Jude, but that’s probably too expensive and he seems to hate my guts anyway. Don’t worry, we’re not thinking about Nottingham cos I’m sure you don’t want to be bumping into me in Tesco’s on a Saturday morning.
The Road to Zoe Page 28