Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy (24 page)

‘Oh, Al! Stop the car!’ I scream. We’re outside Rose Cottage. Philippa groans.

‘We’ve had a whole day apart. That’s quite enough,’ I say, starting to open the car door.

‘Oh, no, love, come back with us. We’ll have a cup of tea,’ Mum suggests.

I look at my mum. I do want to have a cup of tea with her. But I also want to feel Joe King’s lips on mine. And kissing beats tea every time, I’m afraid.

‘Sorry,’ I say with an apologetic wince.

‘Let her go to Lover Boy.’ Philippa giggles. ‘See you, Fan.’

Philippa is in a great mood. Dave suggested they go for lunch to talk about the article they’ll be putting in the
Tiddlesbury Times
and she said that if we become presenters, not only will it be jokes, but she’ll definitely get a book deal. She says celebrities always get book deals. God, this jasmine is divine. I stand and wrestle with it until I’ve pulled a good-sized bunch off. We can have it in a vase by the bed tonight. Ooh, bed tonight, goody!

‘
Fan!
’ It’s Philippa running down the path.

‘What you doing here?’

‘You have to come back.’

‘Why?’

‘Bit of an altercation.’

‘Ooh, an altercation! What sort of altercation?’

‘Steve Wilmot is crying outside your flat.’

‘You what?’

‘Drunk and disorderly and calling your name.’

‘Fanny or Jenny?’

‘Jenny.’

‘Oh, would have been quite funny if it had been Fanny. Do I have to come back?’

‘I think you might be the only one who can shut him up.’

‘Oh, but I want to see Joe, do you think Al will bring me back after?’

‘I’m sure he will.’

I follow her unwillingly to the car where Al and Mum are waiting.

It’s true. Steve Wilmot is stood outside the kebab shop staring up at my flat, he’s clutching a polystyrene kebab box and sobbing to the point of hiccups, while a chap who’s waiting for his kebab shouts. ‘She’s not worth it, mate.’

‘Oooooh,’ I mewl as I observe the scene from the car.

‘We’ll wait in the car, Fan-Tastic, we’re back-up if you need it.’

‘I love you, Al, thank you.’

I get out of the car slowly.

‘Steve,’ I call as I cross the road towards him.

‘Jenny!’ He lollops into the road to greet me.

‘Let’s try to stay on the pavement,’ I say as I engineer him back to the curb. ‘Steve, what are you doing here?’

‘Jenny.’ He belches. ‘You’re beautiful.’

For years I entertained this fantasy that Steve Wilmot was going to realise that we were destined to be together and woo me with words such as these. Never in this fantasy was he reeking of booze and holding a lamb shish. As if reading my mind he offers me a bit of the lamb shish. I shake my head.

‘Will you hold it for me?’

‘Oh,’ I say, taking his food parcel.

He reaches into his back pocket and produces his wallet.

‘I didn’t want the money, Jenny! I never wanted that money!’

He’s holding a handful of notes out to me.

‘Take it. Take this money. I wish I’d given it to you years ago. I didn’t do it for the money. I really liked you. But then Michelle told me she was pregnant and I was only seventeen and I didn’t know what to do. Oh, Jenny! I cocked it all up.’

Tears are rolling down his cheeks. He drops his body slowly down until he is sitting on the curb.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeats.

I look about me, not knowing what to do, and then I sit down beside him. I pat him once on the back.

‘It’s OK, Steve, it’s OK.’

‘It’s not, Jenny. I heard you were really bad after. Had a nervous breakdown or something. Jenny, I felt so bad.’

I watch him for a few moments and then I sigh. And then I try to explain something I’ve been thinking more and more recently.

‘It wasn’t all because of you, Steve.’ I stop and swallow. ‘I’d been bullied for years and my dad was horrid to me too. And I think the thing with you was the last straw. If it hadn’t been you, I’m pretty sure it would have been something else.’

‘But you were going to go to college. You never went to college.’

‘Steve, it’s in the past. Please, leave it there.’

‘You never went to college,’ he wails. ‘You never went to college.’

‘Steve,’ I say, softly. ‘You need to go home.’

‘I’ve left her.’

‘Steve, well maybe you should go back to her.’

‘Can I stay with you?’ he asks in a baby voice.

‘Steve, I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m happy now. Go back to Michelle.’

‘But you’re beautiful.’

‘You made your choice,’ I say softly.

He sobs into his hands again. There’s nothing else I can say to him. There’s nothing else I want to say to him. And even if there was he’d be too drunk to comprehend it. What can I do? Except turn around and head for the car. Life is all about choices, isn’t it? Mum made the wrong choice with Dad. I made the wrong choice being with Matt. But I could whoop for joy that I’ve got it right this time with Joe King.

Al drops me off again at Rose Cottage. I pick up my big bunch of jasmine.

‘Take two,’ I mutter as I knock on the door. There’s a bit of a wait before Joe appears, in jeans, a hoodie and a cardigan, looking tousled and a little bit better than perfect.

‘Lady for hire,’ I say with a big grin.

He furrows his brow.

‘I thought this was our day away from each other,’ he says, pushing his hair out of his eyes, but he’s smiling.

‘Ah ha, yes, but it’s night now,’ I say. I’m so cunning.

He closes his eyes and scrunches his face up. ‘But, babe, I’m in the middle of writing.’

His shoulders slump forward.

‘Well, I could just snuggle in your bed until such a time when you’re finished and then I could soothe your aching guitar-playing shoulders with a massage, and then I could… I could… well, I could suck your willy.’

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.

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, Fan-Tastic.’

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.