Back at the flat, Jessie put the candle in a gift bag and hid it inside her wardrobe, ready for Friday night when she, Lauren and Sofie planned to exchange gifts. She was looking forward to it, especially as hanging out with them both at the same didn’t seem to happen all too often. It was funny how easy it was to live with people and yet barely see them. In the mornings she hardly ever bumped into anybody on her way to the bathroom or in the kitchen, as she sat at the table eating her usual slices of toast.
She flopped onto her bed and flipped open her laptop to book train tickets home to Chesterbury that weekend, then pulled the covers around herself. Her usual trick of envisioning herself on a beach, in an effort to placate the hamster wheel of anxious thoughts constantly rotating in her mind, wasn’t working. All Jessie could think about was the woman she’d seen earlier, freezing on the steps while surrounded by joyous, dancing lights. She thought about her eyes that spent the day scanning a sea of hurried people and felt more thankful for her flat than ever: no matter how ropey it was in some parts or how scared she was that Matthew might find her in it, she’d never feel as afraid as that woman looking for a place to rest in the dead of winter.
Across the landing, Lauren was sat on the floor of her bedroom, wrapping a gift she’d selected too. She took great care to cut the sheet of gold paper, ensuring it was a perfect square for the crushed velvet box that was an easy shape to wrap. She then tied a gold and white ribbon around the paper, scoring it with the edge of a scissor blade. It sprang back satisfactorily, perfectly coiled. It was exactly how a present for somebody special should look.
A few days later, the thought of a takeaway and chilled glass of white wine was the only thing getting Jessie through Friday afternoon, on her last working day of the year. Juliette and Pamela’s warbled efforts at singing along to the radio were beginning to grate on her, so much so that when Slade came on for the second time that afternoon she made an excuse to visit the filing room at the end of the corridor, just to get a break. The high-pitched chorus was more than a challenge for her colleagues – as endearing and lovely as they both were, Jessie was starting to feel like the odd one out, unable to join in with the majority of the conversations that took place in their nook of the office. She didn’t have a bathroom that was being renovated or watch any soap operas and the strain of knowing Matthew would soon be within walking distance made discussions about which supermarkets produce the best mince pies seem trivial. Despite her quietness, Pamela and Juliette still dropped sincerely written cards onto her desk, thanking Jessie for her help over the last couple of months and wishing her a restful Christmas.
When it neared 5pm, Pamela brought out a home-made yule log which Juliette made a big fuss over, calling her a ‘culinary genius’. Jessie made a half-hearted joke about secretly entering her onto the next season of The Great British Bake Off, which seemed to go down well, then helped to share out slices among the wider team of doctors, receptionists and support workers, who had all popped in to pull a cracker and swap season’s greetings. Most of them, Jessie knew, having compiled the rota, barely had any time off. She’d used the tiny amount of annual leave she’d accrued to get out of being in the office on Christmas Eve, a short straw drawn by Juliette this year.
After clearing away the last of the confidential documents on her desk and being handed a lukewarm glass of fizz, Jessie felt the first sprinklings of Christmas cheer slowly stir within her. With every sip, her shoulders loosened.
‘Cheese puffs?’ Juliette waved a bowl of crisps under her nose.
Jessie took a handful to be polite.
‘Gosh, almost the end of another year! It doesn’t feel real, does it?’ said Pamela, her mouth hanging open in exaggerated disbelief.
She topped Jessie’s plastic champagne flute up, then refilled her own.
‘Are you seeing anybody special while you’re at home, my love?’
Jessie laughed and decided to indulge her boss with a snippet of information about her life outside of Tulip Court.
‘Just the girls from school, who I don’t get to see very often. There is someone that I’ve been seeing in Brighton, actually, but it’s very early days. So we’re not swapping presents.’
She could sense that Juliette was listening in too, as she’d slowed her conversation with Dr Statham right down.
‘Nothing serious! Well, what’s he like? A proper gentleman for a lovely young lady like you, I hope?’
‘He’s very nice, Pamela, I promise. Anyway, I’ve got dinner plans with my flatmates so need to be making a move. See you all on the other side!’
She hugged both Pamela and Juliette goodbye, something she’d never done before and genuinely meant it when she said she was looking forward to seeing them in the new year, then waved at Cheryl on reception on her way to the exit. Outside, it was starting to rain. She checked her phone before walking into it, wishing she’d brought an umbrella, and saw that Lauren, thoughtful as ever, had texted to ask what she wanted from the local Chinese.
As soon as Jessie pushed the front door open, she was instantly hit by the smell of food. She hadn’t realised how hungry she’d been until that moment. Sofie and Lauren’s chattering from the kitchen paused to greet her.
‘I’m just going to get changed quickly, one second!’
She slung her bag over the bannister post at the bottom of the stairs and dashed up to her bedroom, to slip into some comfy jeans and collect Sofie’s present. Walking back into the kitchen with it hidden behind her back, Jessie found Sofie and Lauren both sitting at the table wearing paper crowns, with the brown takeaway bags before them waiting to be opened.
‘Are we going to do the big swap before or after food?’ she asked, arm still twisted behind her.
‘Let’s do it now!’ Lauren clapped her hands together in anticipation.
She’d been waiting all day for this moment. Sofie shrugged, as neutral as ever.
‘Yeah, no time like the present for presents.’
They all laughed at the bad joke and Jessie revealed Sofie’s gift bag from behind her back.
‘In that case, here we are!’ She passed it to her. ‘I hope it’s okay. If not I’ve got the receipt and you can swap it.’
She bent down to hug Sofie, then took a seat next to Lauren, who turned to face her and slid a gold box across the table. It had been wrapped with military precision. Sofie ducked under the table and picked up a squashy looking parcel, with a printed snowflake design on it.
‘For you, Lauren. Shall we all open on the count of 3 … 2 … 1?’
Jessie was relieved they weren’t opening their gifts one by one – it was always a process that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. Even as a child, she’d hated having the unwelcome attention on her, along with the pressure to react in the ‘right’ way. She readied herself to thank Lauren, who she knew was still watching her and waiting, in an appropriate way – whether she liked the gift or not. At least she could honestly praise the wrapping.
She read the tag addressed to ‘My little sister of the flat!’ and slid her finger under a loose section of paper, revealing a jewellery box. Inside was a gold bracelet, not dissimilar to the one she’d lost during the move, with a small heart-shaped charm attached to it. There was an engraved J on it too. Jessie looked up and shook her head. It was clearly worth far more than the allotted £10 limit they’d agreed on and a lot more effort had gone into it than her after-work dash to the mall.
‘Oh, Lauren! This is stunning. It’s – it’s so beautiful but really, you shouldn’t have.’
Sofie peered over the table.
‘Let’s see?’
Awkwardly, Jessie turned the open jewellery box to face Sofie.
‘That’s really gorgeous. How lucky are you?’ she said, wide-eyed. ‘And how lucky am I? Thank you for the candle, Jess. It smells amazing.’
Sofie put the gift bag down and went to get plates out of the cupboard, ready for the food.
‘Lauren, this must have cost a lot more
than a tenner,’ Jessie said in a low voice.
‘Seriously, don’t think of it like that.’ Lauren smiled serenely, loosely waving a hand. ‘Money isn’t important and I know how gutted you were about losing your other one. Besides, it’s vintage, not Dolce and Gabbana.’
Jessie closed the lid and bit her lower lip. It was an incredibly kind and generous thing of Lauren to do and she almost found herself welling up.
‘Thank you so much. Really, it means a lot.’
She leant over to hug Lauren, who squeezed her back.
‘My turn!’ Lauren exclaimed, as Sofie put a plate down for each of them. ‘Slipper socks, thanks, Sofes.’
‘Well, we all know how cold it gets when the boiler plays up.’
Sofie winked and reached for a box of vegetable chow mein, then passed it to Jessie.
‘You have to show me how you do your hair like that,’ she said, looking at her wistfully. ‘And I love your outfit too; where’s that top from?’
Jessie blushed and stroked her hair bashfully. It had gone wavy after being caught in the drizzle.
‘I was going to say the same thing,’ Lauren laughed. ‘Did you curl it this morning?’
As they settled into an easy chatter, Marcus appeared at the doorway, glanced in nervously, then quickly turned away.
‘Marcus, wait!’ Lauren called. ‘There’s plenty going spare if you’d like some?’
Sofie murmured in agreement through a mouthful. Jessie stayed silent.
Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m on my way to a gig. I have a spare ticket and just wanted to see if you fancied it – it’s my mate’s band, Dark Destruction. You remember, we saw them once with …’
He looked down at the floor as he spoke, as though wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Lauren’s face gave nothing away.
‘Oh I’m sorry, they were never really my thing. Plus, I said I’d hang with these two tonight. Enjoy, though.’
Before Lauren had even finished her sentence, Marcus had gone.
‘I didn’t realise metal was your scene, Loz. Or that you’d ever hung out with Marcus?’ Sofie laughed. ‘That would be even stranger than being into heavy metal.’
‘Oh, I just went once to be polite. I felt sorry for him.’
Strange indeed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It seemed to Jessie that her hometown was permanently frozen in time. No matter how long she left it for, the cobbled lanes, faceless housing estates and sturdy castle remained unchanged. The streets were still littered with the shadows of ex-boyfriends and school bullies that she’d rather avoid, but the chance to see Nicole, her best friend from school, was enough to lure her out of the warmth of her parents’ house for a Christmas Eve drink after a few days of hibernation.
She exchanged smiles with the doormen posted in the cold outside the Grey Dog pub – the first place she’d ever tried tequila, on her eighteenth birthday – who nodded her inside. The familiar refrain of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas’ could just about be heard over the excited whoops and chatter. The bar was heaving, Jessie instinctively scanning it for khaki parka jackets like Matthew’s, could only fully exhale after confirming to herself that he wasn’t there. She spotted an old friend of his in the corner, deep in conversation with a woman she didn’t recognise – she presumed a new girlfriend he’d brought home for Christmas. He was too engrossed to notice her and she was pretty sure he and Matthew weren’t in touch any more, so felt safe enough to slip past him into a smaller back room of the bar, a few steps up beyond the bustling crowd. Nicole waved and pointed to an empty chair. After high-pitched greetings and hugs, Jessie dutifully wiggled herself onto the seat. Her friends had already bought a bottle of wine and had a glass waiting for her. Jessie tried to crack a whip in her mind to scare away the negative thoughts; she wanted to allow herself to sink into the magic of the season. The wine would help with that, she decided, playing with the new charm bracelet linked around her wrist, still half-looking around the room.
‘Happy Christmas Eve, ladies!’ said Nicole, raising a glass in the air.
Jessie lifted her own in response and clinked it against one held by Nicole’s younger sister, Demi-Leigh. As the group branched off into smaller bubbles of conversation, Nicole turned to her in hushed tones.
‘I’ve been worried about you. It’s like you’ve just vanished off the face of the earth recently. How are you?’
Before Jessie could open her mouth to spin a line about how she was fine and apologise for not keeping in touch, Nicole interjected again.
‘And I mean that, how are you really? Don’t bullshit me.’
The familiarity of having her oldest friend so close by was akin to being wrapped in a soft blanket. Jessie could feel her lips twitching, wanting to talk and tell her all about how she’d finally managed to escape Matthew’s ever-suffocating grip. But the truth was too embarrassing. Really, she hadn’t mustered up the courage to leave by herself. He’d come home drunk, after a week of barely coming home at all, and when she’d plucked up the nerve to ask where he’d been, his response was a short three words.
‘With someone else.’
He’d finally admitted what she’d long suspected. Jessie cried, asking who and why. He laughed. Then spat. The large globule sat on her cheek and hurt more than any of the times he’d dug his nails into her upper arms.
‘I’m bored of all of this,’ he snarled, waving a hand around the living room that she’d made sure was pristine for whenever he decided to return. ‘So fucking bored of you. It’s been, what, seven years? We were kids when we met, you can’t expect me to only be with one woman my whole life.’
That much was true. Whenever she’d lain awake next to him, questioning whether their relationship was worth fighting for, she would think back to those early days when she had just turned sixteen and was sitting on a wall outside her sixth form college with Nicole, and Matthew – a few years older and therefore immediately cool by default – had first approached her. He’d bounded over, exuding self-assurance, and said he’d seen Jessie around town. He asked if she fancied getting food sometime, while running his thumb across the edge of his jaw. That contrast of confidence and vulnerability drew her in, and when he made both her and Nicole laugh by doing an impression of one of their tutors, she was a goner.
They had their first date a few days later in a nondescript Italian chain restaurant. He ordered a carbonara, she went for the pesto spaghetti. Afterwards he’d dropped her home, parking around the corner of her parents’ house so that she wouldn’t have to answer any questions about who the owner of the red Fiat was. Matthew’s car became their lifeline out of the suburbs, a ticket to freedom, taking them to other nearby towns for day trips. It made Jessie feel so much older than she really was. She felt in control, desired and sure that she knew what love was. She was drowning in it. Love couldn’t be anything else but this. Matthew quickly became all-consuming. Lyrics in songs she’d heard countless times before took on new meanings. She closed her eyes and listened as she sat in the passenger seat. Finally, she got it.
But after they’d been together for a year, had met one another’s families, Matthew began to hold her hand a little too tightly. When she wanted to spend more time with her friends, he’d give her the silent treatment, claiming that she obviously didn’t love him, sending her head into a wild spin.
‘I’ve never loved anybody as much as I love you! Stop it,’ she’d recite each time.
Eventually it became easier to stay at home with him, sitting in the dark, in his cramped single bed, staring blankly at the luminous television screen. If Matthew’s fantasy football team ever lost a match, or if she fell asleep, he’d jab an elbow sharply into her chest and throw the controller on the floor, muttering that it was her fault for distracting him. The jabs soon morphed into new forms of torture: one minute he’d be kissing the soft insides of her thighs, the next he’d have her flesh gripped between his teeth, biting down on it, hard, until she yelped. Jessi
e found herself staring at the ceiling fan in his bedroom, counting each rotation it made as he panted in her ear, wishing that her mind would further disconnect from her body. Yet, at the same time, she was terrified Matthew would stop wanting it, stop wanting her. She’d do anything to please him, including turn a blind eye to his phone lighting up in the night with messages from unsaved numbers.
On the day of celebrating her exam results at Nicole’s house party, she’d drunk too quickly and felt light-headed. She wandered upstairs to a bedroom to take a breather. It didn’t take long for Matthew to find her. He pulled Jessie up from the bed and she clung onto the jacket he was wearing, giggling. A button came loose. The red mist descended. He shoved her, then when she turned to leave, aimed a glass beer bottle directly at her head, only narrowly missing her. The following morning, he was back on her parents’ doorstep bright and early, begging for forgiveness as she stood, embarrassed, wearing threadbare pink-striped pyjamas, in the doorway.
‘I’ve never been physical with a woman like that before, Jess. I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again. I’m disgusted with myself.’
She had to believe him because this man was her future. It was her own fault. She had got too drunk, hadn’t been entertaining enough or behaving right. Matthew had grown up with a difficult childhood – his mother left when he was a toddler, saddling him with an alcoholic father – and Jessie had hoped that, if she could practise enough patience, eventually his temper would settle back down. He’d go back to worshipping her like he did in the beginning, rewarding her for remaining loyally by his side. Leaving this relationship, this love, was not an option.
But that party wasn’t the last time Matthew had laid a finger on her. Looking back now, she realised it wasn’t the first time either. After a long and sticky summer of arguments, the majority of which stemmed from his anger over her heading off to university, she almost dropped out of her course in Brighton before it had even started. The only way she managed to placate Matthew enough to let her go was to swear she’d visit him every weekend and move back to Chesterbury, to live with him, the second she handed in her final essay.
The Wrong Move Page 9
