Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy (26 page)

‘Look! Look, it’s in,’ Philippa says, thrusting a copy of the
Tiddlesbury Times
at me as soon as she’s opened the door. ‘It went in the paper today.’

‘Who do you think it is?’ she asks with a wink when I hand it back to her.

‘No idea.’ I smile.

‘It’ll be interesting, won’t it, if people do come forward.’

‘I’m a bit worried we’ll hear more tales of our terrible matchmaking.’

‘Oh, bummer, yeah.’ She laughs. ‘So come up.’

I follow Philippa up the stairs.

‘I have to tell you something,’ I say once we are in her room.

‘Why do I have a feeling it’s going to be one of the worst things you’ve ever told me?’ she says seriously, plonking herself on the bed and fixing her eyes upon me.

‘I’m going to marry Matt,’ I say.

‘Please don’t do it,’ she says, not missing a beat, as though she was expecting it.

‘I’m doing it.’

‘What does your mum say?’

‘I asked her to be happy for me. I don’t want to fall out with her and I don’t want to fall out with you. I was fine with Matt before all this Joe stuff. I just want to get back to that.’

‘But the Joe stuff, surely it’s made you realise that there is someone out there who’ll love you for you, who’ll make you feel alive and glow.’

‘Yes, and then he’ll crap on me from a great height.’

‘No, no. Please don’t.’

‘Philippa, I love you more than anyone in the world. But you need to realise that I know what’s best for me. You don’t. You do about a lot of things. But not this.’

‘Oh, Fan. What can I say to you?’

‘Nothing. You don’t understand.’

‘Urrgghhh,’ she groans in frustration. ‘But, Fan! I do! I think I understand you better than anyone. I understand that for years and years you tried to make your horrible father love you, but it didn’t work, and then you fell for Steve Wilmot and he broke your heart, and you didn’t want to have your heart broken again. And then you met Matt, and something about him bossing you around feels familiar and safe for you. But it only feels safe because that’s what your dad did to you. And you’ll end up like your mum and we won’t be friends for twenty-seven years and you’ll find out that Matt has another girlfriend and somewhere along the line you’ll lose you. And I don’t want you to lose you, Fan, you’re awesome! I give you a list of ten things and you do them for six years! Six years of meeting mavericks and helping kids with their homework and giving people flowers that you barely know. And the Tidds Tour – how you came up with that, I’ll never know, but I bloody love it. And the dress code, I say something for a laugh and you run with it till it’s a bloody adventure, and the musketeers, man, the Musketeer Missions, they’re mental, but they’re one of the highlights of my life. No, you are, Fan, you’re the highlight of my life and I know how hard stuff is with your depression, Fan’ – oh, God, she’s trying not to cry – ‘I really do know, Fan, how hard it is. And when you came off the antidepressants, Fan, it was the proudest I’ve ever been of anyone. I wish I could give you confidence. All the confidence in the world. Because I know people meet you and you’ve got pink hair and you’re funny and they must think you’re the most sorted person on the planet. But I know that somewhere in you is this belief that you’re worthless. And you’re not, Fan! But Matt, he doesn’t know any of this. And I don’t think you’ll survive with him. I think you’re very good for Matt, but he’s not very good for you.’

‘I’ve said I’ll marry him.’

She kicks her bed frame. ‘Ouch, that really hurt.’

‘Please, just be happy for me.’

‘I can’t be happy for you. I can’t be there, Fan. Put yourself in my position!’

‘Please, Philippa. Please.’

‘Fan, no. I’m not coming to your wedding. What do you want me to do? Smile. Tell you the golf club is lovely?’

‘Yes.’ That’s exactly what I want her to do.

‘I can’t.’

I wait for her to change her mind. But she doesn’t.

‘I’d best be off.’

‘Yep,’ she says, but she doesn’t look at me.

Well, I’m back where I belong. I let my guard down. No, I let myself down, by getting close to Joe King. Still, it could have been worse and at least I’m here again with Matt. At least he was sensible enough to know I was behaving out of character, and he waited for me. And Philippa will come round. I have to believe that Philippa will come round.

Being with Matt is already starting to feel familiar again. I hope I’ll stop comparing him with Joe King soon. I suppose it’s only natural that I should compare them. But I feel so guilty doing it. I feel so guilty all the time actually. Hopefully that will pass soon as well.

Matt likes to put the telly on after sex and catch up on a bit of news or football. It’s good, it means I can zone out. I don’t think I can be perky at the moment. Post-coital Matt is not at all like Joe, Joe would ask me questions and questions about myself as we lay entwined in bed after sex. What was the first single you ever bought? If you won the lottery tomorrow, what would you do with the money? How did you get the scar on your chin? When we have our first child what shall we call the little fella? He’d really said that, when we have our first child… crazy. Or he’d play me a song on the stereo, and we’d lie there naked, our legs twisting around each other’s, our toes touching, listening to some beautiful folk song. Or he’d reach out of the bed and fetch his guitar, and then sit up in the bed and play me a song himself.

Sex with Matt is different to sex with Joe King too. Well, of course it would be. With Matt it feels like something he has to do. Not a duty, as such, but a biological need that should be met. It’s not bad though. Not at all. But Joe King, well, Joe King was a sorcerer.

You can’t fall in love at first sight. Well, maybe you can. But you shouldn’t.

‘Do you want me to buy you a new dress for my work do?’ Matt asks, during the adverts.

‘Oh, no, I’m sure I’ve got something.’

‘Really? I don’t mind.’

‘No, I’ve got loads of dresses.’ I smile. ‘But thank you.’

‘Nothing too mad, Fanny,’ he says, and he must mean it because he turns his head from the telly towards me.

‘What are you trying to say?’ I joke.

‘You know, just that it’s my work do. I want us to make a good impression.’

‘Course,’ I mumble.

‘Maybe run a few suggestions by me in the next few days, so we’ve got time to go out and get something if we need to.’

‘OK.’

‘And maybe…’ he stops himself.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Well, don’t hate me for this, Fan, but I was thinking about your hair.’

‘What about it?’

‘I was thinking it might be good if it could be a more natural colour. Don’t get me wrong, I like the pink, it’s kooky.’ He fingers a few strands idly, and smiles to himself. ‘I fell for you with crazy hair. But, you know, you’ve got to grow up sooner or later.’

‘Oh,’ I say.

‘If I’m going to be a partner, I don’t think we should entertain clients with you with pink hair. I don’t know what the Japanese would make of it. Or the Germans. They might think you’re on drugs.’ He laughs. ‘I think we should play it on the safe side.’

‘Hmm. What do you think? Blonde?’

‘I thought brown, Fanny. I think people would take you more seriously.’

‘Oh, oh, um, OK.’

‘And I was thinking about that too, your name’ – he props himself up further in bed. He’s on a roll now – ‘I think I should try to call you Jenny. Fanny is a bit too… a bit too… a bit too… something, well, you know what I mean.’

‘Hmmm. Anything else?’

‘No! Sorry. Does that all sound awful? It’s just when I’m a partner…’

‘Yeah, it’s fair enough,’ I say, turning away from him. I close my eyes. I want to go to sleep now.

‘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.

‘Al?’ I knock lightly on his door.

‘Fan-Tastic! 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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.