by Nicola Gill
She stood under the shower squeezing her eyes shut, trying to ignore the voice in her head telling her to phone Jess. Or message her – something.
She watched Queer Eye without really watching it, ate meals without tasting them and read the same paragraph over and over in Good Grief. (To be fair, when she did finally take the paragraph in, it just annoyed her. It was about a woman who’d had to hide her grief because the person who died was her married lover. Laura didn’t feel a great deal of sympathy – having had the misfortune to have had not one but two serious boyfriends who’d cheated on her, she could still remember the stomach-churning feeling of betrayal.)
Apologize to Jess, apologize to Jess, apologize to Jess.
At work she found herself having to get people to repeat things when they asked her a question. Sitting in meetings but not actually being there. Could she get an interview with the twins who’d given birth on the same day? Dani wanted to know.
Laura’s mind was on the terrible things she’d said to Jess.
She pulled herself back to the present as Dani continued. The twins weren’t unkind to look at so it would make for some decent photos.
She found herself looking at Jess’ Instagram. She wanted to see if she was okay or if their row was making her unhappy too. But it was hard to tell that from a piece called Style Steals for Spring. Laura found herself clicking on a link to some sandals. She was an awful person to be thinking of sandals right now. But they would go with everything.
When she’d picked Billy up from school and taken him to the playground, she’d watched him clamber up the monkey ropes. A woman a few feet away kept admonishing her own little boy: Be nice to your sister.
Be nice to your sister.
In the supermarket later that afternoon, Billy had whined at her to get him the superhero yoghurts. ‘Daddy would let me.’ Laura stared at the shelf, the labels changing before her eyes so they read: Call her!
She bought the yoghurts but Billy was still not happy. Why was it such a long wait for the bus? He was bored. He tugged at Laura’s arm as he bounced up and down. ‘Can we go and see Lola and Hannah and Auntie Jess? Can we? Can we?’ Laura’s chest hurt. She’d told Jess her little girl was going to end up with an eating disorder. Who says things like that?
She pulled the nit comb through Billy’s hair that evening, unable to believe he had nits again. Last time, Jess had dealt with them for her.
On Saturday, Jon came to pick up Billy.
‘New denim jacket, mate?’
Billy nodded. ‘Auntie Jess gave it to me. It used to be Hannah’s but now she is too big.’
‘StyleMaven approved,’ Jon said to Laura, smirking.
Normally she would have laughed but today she just shrugged. The least she owed Jess was a bit of loyalty.
Sometimes she got as far as picking up her phone, scrolling to Jess’ number. With Dad and Mum both gone, Jess was the only family she had left.
People always said blood was thicker than water, but when push comes to shove do you owe more to people who are only part of your life by the accident of birth? Jess was the person Laura had fought with in the backseat of the car, the person she had endured endless camping trips in the rain with and the person who she was thrown together with for weddings, funerals and Christmas. But did that mean the two of them were bound together forever and whatever – two little orphans clinging to what they had left.
Karen at work casually dropped it into conversation that she hadn’t spoken to her brother for over ten years. What happened? Natasha asked. Karen shrugged. A row over toothpaste. Everyone laughed, including Karen, and Laura stared at her. Was she traumatized on the inside; did she feel as if she was missing a limb? She was certainly hiding it very well if she did.
‘Ooh, I don’t think I could do that,’ Greta said. ‘My sister eats meat, drives a four-by-four around Fulham and spouts the worst kind of politics imaginable but I don’t think I could just stop speaking to her altogether. What if one of us got run over by a bus?’ She turned to Laura, her cheeks colouring. ‘Sorry.’
Lots of people acted this way around Laura now. As if she’d forgotten her mother had died two and a half months earlier but the mention of death would remind her. She swore Chloe had looked embarrassed the other day when she’d said her phone had died.
That night Laura couldn’t sleep. The light from the lampposts leached under the blinds and she stared at a crack in the ceiling. Jess had started it.
Christ, what was she, twelve?
She would call Jess in the morning. It wasn’t difficult.
Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but she woke up sweaty and breathless after a dream that Greta was telling her that it was actually her sister that had been run over by a bus. Wasn’t that something! Jon was there too. Asking if she’d get a discount at the funeral directors since she’d used them so recently.
In the morning, Billy wanted to play with the guinea pig even though they were already running late.
‘You’ll miss registration,’ she told him. ‘Mummy will be late for work.’
Billy was reaching into the cage, pulling out the small ginger and white bundle. ‘Buzz will be sad if I don’t play with him.’
That was highly questionable. Everything pointed to the fact that the guinea pig endured, rather than enjoyed, Billy’s small and clumsy hands wrenching him from his warm straw so that he could be shown a new Lego creation or drawing. But Laura said nothing because her head was elsewhere. She couldn’t call Jess now; she’d be getting the girls ready for school. Laura pictured her, immaculate and tiny in something leopard print, doing Hannah’s plaits meticulously, reaching out for the occasional sip of matcha tea.
On the tube, she clung to the strap and typed out a message. I’m sorry if … She stopped, that was what she always accused Jess of doing. Not that Jess had done that this time. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get in touch. And she had been having a go at Billy when she said he seemed tired. Everyone knows that mums speak in code. When a parent comes to pick up their child after a playdate and asks you how they’ve been, the minimum response is ‘fine’. Even when said child has flooded your sink, said the spaghetti bolognese was disgusting and repeatedly called your son a ‘poo poo head’.
So Jess didn’t really have the moral high ground.
Except she hadn’t talked about Billy developing an eating disorder.
Sorry I said those terrible things. x
See, it wasn’t hard.
She emerged from the tube, but couldn’t quite bring herself to press send.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Then
Laura lay on the hospital gurney with tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘I’m sure your mum will be here soon, love,’ Adam’s mum said, squeezing Laura’s hand. ‘The nurse has gone to try to phone her again now.’
Laura thought back to the moment a few weeks earlier when she’d told her mother she was pregnant. Evie’s disgust had crackled around the room. ‘How?’ Laura had made a face. ‘I mean how could you have been so stupid?’ Evie snapped.
‘We weren’t stupid,’ Laura had said. ‘We used a condom. It’s just—’
‘Spare me the details,’ Evie’d said, her lip curling.
‘There, there, my love,’ Adam’s mum said now, stroking Laura’s hair.
Evie had just assumed that Laura would get an abortion and was horrified when Laura said she was going to keep the baby. ‘You’re nineteen, for goodness’ sake. What about going to university?’
Laura had shrugged and tried to display a confidence she didn’t actually feel. She could go to university once the baby was born, she’d said.
Her mother had looked at her like she was insane. ‘And what about him?’
Him. Adam was Laura’s first proper boyfriend and Laura had been desperate for her mother to like him, or even to dislike him; just something. But, as it was, her mother was far too preoccupied with her own rather complicated love life (a sea of ad
mirers, all of whom seemed to be kept slightly at bay). Whatever scraps of interest in such matters Evie had left got thrown in Jess’ direction. That boy, Ben, Jess had met at uni seemed nice, and weren’t the two of them similar – peas in a pod, they were.
When Laura had started bleeding she was at Adam’s house. He didn’t know what to do and neither did she.
When the bleeding started to be accompanied by cramping, Adam had panicked and gone to get his mum. She had handled the situation as calmly as she had the news of the pregnancy weeks earlier. She had them all at the hospital in less than twenty minutes, held Laura’s hand and told her it was going to be okay.
Everyone at the hospital had been nice too. One of the nurses told Laura that this was a bereavement, and not to let anyone make her feel otherwise, that it didn’t matter that Laura wasn’t that far gone, she had still lost her baby.
Laura looked at Adam’s mum. If any part of her thought it was a good thing her nineteen-year-old son’s girlfriend was miscarrying their unplanned baby, she was much too kind to say so. She seemed to understand that, even if no one – Laura included – thought this baby was a good idea, that didn’t mean that Laura didn’t still want it desperately. She had already bonded with the little bean that was growing inside of her, whispered to it that she was going to love it more than anything else in the world. Love it ferociously and unconditionally.
‘He won’t stay with you, you know,’ Evie had said a few days ago, ‘that Adam. He’ll stick around for a bit trying to do the decent thing, but once that baby arrives and screams all night long, you won’t see him for dust.’
Laura lay on the gurney wondering if her mother would have been proved right. Adam’s mum had dispatched him to the café to get Laura a cup of tea and he seemed to have been gone ages, certainly much longer than it took to go the café and back. Laura could suddenly picture him sitting somewhere weeping with relief.
Meanwhile, not a single one of Laura’s tears were of relief, even if her rational brain (and her mother’s voice inside her head) told her they should be.
Laura wasn’t relieved, she was desolate. She could hardly believe she had lost her baby, that she was never going to get to meet and hold him or her. Maybe the doctors had got it wrong and she was still pregnant? They got these things wrong sometimes; everyone knew that.
‘You poor love,’ Adam’s mum said. Laura was grateful to her for not trying to say more. She didn’t want to hear that maybe this was for the best or that she was very young.
Adam’s mum gently dabbed at Laura’s cheeks with a tissue. Laura had decided that, if the baby was a boy, she was going to call it George after her dad, and she had even bought some little baby-sized trainers the other day. The image of them hidden away in her underwear drawer made Laura wonder suddenly if buying them had been tempting fate. Also, she hadn’t stopped drinking until she had discovered she was pregnant, and she’d taken paracetamol for a headache more than once. A surge of guilt washed over her.
‘Miscarriages happen,’ Adam’s mum said, as if she could read Laura’s mind. ‘It’s nothing you did or didn’t do.’
Laura had hoped her mother’s initial anger would dissipate and she would gradually warm to the idea of this new little life, but Evie’s rage had just seemed to calcify. She repeated the same mantras daily: Laura was mad to keep this baby. It was going to ruin her life. And if she thought Evie was going to give up her time to help look after it, well, then she had another thing coming. She was too young to play grandma, way too young.
Laura started to cry again.
‘Sssh,’ Adam’s mum said. ‘Sometimes you just want your mum, don’t you?’
Laura felt a tightness in her chest as she looked at the kind woman she barely knew who was stroking her hair so tenderly – a more motherly mother you couldn’t hope to find. This was a woman who was always trying to press food on anyone who walked through her door, a woman whose mere presence soothed and calmed.
Laura thought about her own mother, who would no doubt arrive in a puff of Shalimar and try to brush this all away as if it was nothing. She would tell Laura that she was relieved, and that this was for the best. Laura could take up her place at uni now, she wouldn’t find herself marrying a man who was only at the altar because it was the decent thing to do. And everything that Laura’s mother said would be true. But Laura did not want to hear it. She just wanted someone who stroked her hair and squeezed her hand and told her they were so very sorry.
Right now, disloyal though it was, Laura wished Adam’s mum was her own.
Chapter Fifty-Four
As Laura stood on the packed tube she wondered if there was any chance that today might be an easy day. It was a faint hope – normally the day the magazine went to print was manic, but there was always a chance. She certainly hoped so as she had quite enough on her mind, what with worrying about whether she’d ruined Billy’s life and whether she would ever speak to her sister again.
As she emerged from the tube station her mobile rang.
‘Hello,’ said an unfamiliar voice at the other end. ‘It’s Jan Towler.’
The woman who slept with the best man the night before her wedding. Laura’s stomach clenched. Don’t say it, don’t say it.
‘I don’t want you to print that story. I’ve been chatting with my mate Jackie about it and she reckons I’m gonna get all kinds of grief over it. People thinking I’m a slag. And I’m not a slag.’
Laura stood motionless at the mouth of the tube station while people shoved past her. She stared out at the overcast sky. She was used to stories dropping out, of course, even on the day the magazine was going to print, but she just didn’t have the energy to deal with it today. ‘I’m sure no one will think you’re a slag, Jan. We’ve told the story very sympathetically. Shown that Mitch had a history of cheating on you.’
Silence buzzed down the line. ‘Yeah, but—’
‘How about you have a little think and I’ll call you back?’ Laura said. She’d learned over the years that if you weren’t too pushy with people when they got nervy, they often let you run the story after all. Plus, a delay would give her a chance to talk to Dani. The thought of telling Dani made her groan out loud and a man walking past gave her a very strange look.
Laura trudged towards the office feeling gloomy. Last night she’d impulsively looked for the Inlustris job ad only to discover that, of course, it wasn’t there anymore. Laura had kicked herself for not even trying. She had vowed that next time something came up that sounded good, she was going to go for it. But situations like this reminded Laura exactly what had stopped her applying to Inlustris. She wasn’t really a proper journalist. Proper journalists took things like stories dropping out in their stride. Laura, by contrast, was highly tempted to turn around, go back home and take to her bed with a large block of cheese.
As soon as she got into the office she headed straight for Dani.
‘Ahh, Laura,’ Dani said, ‘I wanted to talk to you.’
Perfect, Laura thought, adopting a mental brace position.
‘Did you see that report that has come out today showing that people between thirty-five and forty-nine spend the most time on social media?’
‘I did,’ Laura lied.
‘What do you think about doing an “Is it okay to be a social media addict” story?’ Before Laura could mistake this for a question, Dani continued. ‘A simple “yes” or “no” debate. You can do the no and then get an influencer to do the yes. Maybe ChiaraPicks or StyleMaven?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Laura said, not able to quite believe what she’d just heard because surely – surely – Dani had not just mentioned Jess?
‘ChiaraPicks or StyleMaven.’
Would now be a good time to mention that StyleMaven was actually her sister and that they weren’t really on speaking terms right now? ‘Umm, I’m not sure we should get an influencer to do the yes. I mean they would say that, wouldn’t they?’
Dani looked at her quizzically. ‘Tha
t’s rather the point.’
‘Right,’ Laura said. ChiaraPicks better be on board. She turned to go back to her desk.
‘Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?’ Dani said.
Laura couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about Jan Towler for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My bride who slept with the best man has got cold feet about us running the story.’
Dani’s face scrunched. ‘Can’t you talk her round?’
‘I can try,’ Laura said. The truth was she felt slightly uncomfortable about this. Jan’s friend was probably right that Jan would get all kinds of abuse. Also, Laura couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d manipulated Jan a bit at the interview stage, especially as Jan wasn’t someone who was ever going to trouble Mensa. And, yes, she could say that Jan had got her two-hundred-quid fee and loved being centre of attention at the photo shoot, but Laura knew she’d acted as if she was Jan’s friend and that made her feel more than a bit shabby.
‘Yes, please do,’ Dani said, standing up to indicate that the conversation was over.
As Laura walked back to her desk, she saw Oli Greaves waiting for her, the designer who had gone out of his way (sometimes spectacularly so) to avoid her since she’d come back to work. Just when today couldn’t get any better.
‘What can I do for you, Oli?’ she said.
Oli was behaving as if an invisible piece of string was tethering each eyeball to the floor. ‘Shall we nip into the Lamb & Flag?’ he mumbled.
‘Perfect,’ Laura said. ‘I could murder a glass of wine.’
‘I meant the meeting room,’ Oli said.
‘Err, I was joking.’
‘Oh,’ Oli said, not laughing.
Laura followed him, wondering if the woman who had run out of Sainsbury’s to avoid Jess was still keeping away from her. And if Laura would ever speak to Jess again to find out.
In the meeting room Oli sat, the invisible strings still keeping his eyes firmly on the ground. ‘So,’ he blurted, showing her some printouts of a layout for her article about a woman whose husband had dropped dead on a family walk. ‘I was just wondering if you’d be able to cut this copy.’
