by Holly Smale
Mine is definitely not this ugly, raw wail of pain: an explosion of tears and saliva and snot rushing down my face and rolling into my ears. It’s soaking into Roz’s shoulder and trickling down my neck and dripping into my mouth and dribbling back out again until everything’s loud and soggy and swollen.
This isn’t me. It’s not who I am. It’s not what I do. Nobody ever wants to see this.
‘That’s good,’ Roz says, stroking my head as I shake and splutter. I cough and make weird uhhh uhhh uhhh noises as I struggle to breathe. ‘Good girl. Get it all out.’
I don’t seem to be able to stop.
Years of water must have been stored up in my feet, because I cry and cry until my face aches. My nose is blocked and my eyes swell and my lips puff. And every time I think I’m done another wave of pain surprises me and I start all over again. It’s like there’s so much sadness inside me I can’t hold it in any more and it’s spilling everywhere.
At some point, Roz must have guided me patiently into the living room. When I finally come to, forty minutes later, I’m curled up in an armchair, covered in a soft blanket, hiccuping. At some point, I think I might have had my hair stroked because it’s all fluffy and vertical at the front.
‘Cookies?’ Roz asks calmly as I brush it down again. ‘I made double-chocolate chip and peanut butter with strawberry jam. This might be California, but nobody actually wants to live forever.’
Trying to steady my breathing, I wipe my eyes and nod.
Roz places a mug of hot tea on the tiny table in front of me, clinks a plate of massive cookies next to it and sits neatly opposite.
There’s a very long silence and a lot more hiccups.
‘Boy?’ she says finally.
Embarrassed, I nod again and wipe my face. ‘H-his name is Jamie. Y-you were r-right – the – the t-tall blond one y-you saw w-when you dropped me off. I m-met h-him in London b-before I c-c-came out here.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘I th-th-th—’ I take a deep breath. ‘I-I think m-maybe I’ve wrecked everything, Roz. I think m-maybe it’s o-over.’ I start crying again.
‘Well.’ Roz sips her tea calmly. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Hope. We all make mistakes sometimes.’
‘N-not mistakes like this.’ Chest heaving, I stick an entire cookie in my mouth and chew with claggy, breathless grunts. ‘I d-don’t know what I’m doing, Roz. I thought I’d b-be the perfect girlfriend, but this is all n-new to me. I didn’t realise it would be so hard to get right.’
Another wave of pain pierces through me.
‘And—’ My mouth is doing that ugly crying-shape again. ‘N-now I’m losing my dream guy and i-it’s all my fault, Roz. I d-disappointed him. I’ve changed. I’ve become clingy and jealous and selfish and crazy.’ Another tiny wail pops out. ‘And I don’t know how to make it better.’
‘He is a very handsome boy.’ Roz takes a cookie from the plate. ‘I could see that, even from the car.’
‘Yes.’ My face lights up. ‘But he’s s-so much m-more than that. Jamie’s good. He does so much charity work, and loves whales, and swings from things, and he knows so much clever stuff. H-he’s just …’ I swallow. ‘He’s a-amazing and I’ve screwed it all u-u-up.’
I start crying into the blanket. Slowly, I calm down again. And Roz nods and asks soft questions until I’ve haltingly outlined every detail of how Jamie and I met: what happened in London, how I followed him out here and how I got it so wrong.
Roz is chewing thoughtfully.
‘I do feel sorry for him,’ she says eventually, shaking her head. ‘The poor, poor guy.’
I nod, welling up once more. ‘I know.’
‘I mean, making him go on a date he wasn’t even interested in. After all those dates in London, with you dragging him round the city, forcing him to do whatever you wanted, day after day, thinking only of yourself—’
‘Oh no.’ I wipe my nose on my wrist. ‘No, those dates were Jamie’s idea. I’ve lived in London all my life. I’ve already been on the London Eye, like, six times.’
‘Ah.’ Roz lifts her eyebrows. ‘But you probably complained and rolled your eyes at it. I bet you gave the poor guy a real hard time …’
‘Not at all.’ A vigorous shake of my head. ‘He was so excited to be in London I pretended I hadn’t done any of it before. And it was so much fun because he was so happy.’
A sudden wave of homesickness and my eyes fill again.
I miss London.
‘OK,’ Roz says quietly. ‘I understand. But after he told you right at the start that he was leaving in a week’s time and laid the whole situation out so clearly—’
‘I genuinely don’t remember that. Swear on my life.’
‘A very easy conversation to forget, I’d imagine. Except then, of course, Jamie asks you to keep things light and casual so nobody gets the wrong idea and there you go with all your gifts and compliments and emotional declarations …’
‘But they weren’t me,’ I explain earnestly. ‘At least, not to start with. That’s what makes it so confusing. Jamie was the one pushing it faster and faster, and I was just trying to … keep up. You know, go at the same speed as him. Except I obviously misunderstood, because now he seems to think I’m … insane. And maybe I am. I’m certainly starting to feel insane.’
‘Well, you did follow him across the Atlantic.’ Roz nibbles on another cookie and leans back in her chair, watching me calmly through lowered eyelids. ‘And after he’d ended things so cleanly with no mixed messages in London.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, shoving my third cookie into my mouth. ‘That’s my point exactly.’
There’s a silence while I chew.
‘Except,’ I add, ‘he did also say that he wanted me out here and that he missed me. And he said that he was falling in love with me and it was only circumstances stopping us from being a couple. So I just – you know. Changed the circumstances.’
‘And you tried to surprise him by turning up unannounced.’ Roz shakes her head. ‘When he actually had other plans, much like you did in London. Put yourself in his shoes, Hope. How would you have felt if it was the other way round?’
I blink. ‘Really happy. That’s why I did it.’
‘But then you start asking questions about the other girl he’s talking about constantly, even though he’s told you that he loves you—’
‘Fall-ing,’ I correct quickly. ‘It’s, like, a … grey scale of love, and he was actually at the … other end of it. You know. Quite far from love itself. It was another misunderstanding on my part.’
‘Ah. Well, that does clear things up. I mean, what’s love if not a moderately sloped gradient you can slip back down at any given moment? More tea?’
Humming, Roz boils the kettle as I stare at the wall.
‘Do you know the worst thing?’ she says, handing me another cup of tea and sitting down again. ‘It sounds like you weren’t really this way before you met Jamie. So I guess you must have saved all of the unhinged behaviour just for him, much like all those other crazy girls he’s been with. I mean, what were the chances?’ Roz pauses for a few seconds. ‘Like, seriously. That boy has such bad luck.’
‘He says he’s drawn to broken people.’
‘My goodness, what a hero.’ Roz smiles. ‘But it’s not too late, Hope! I still think there’s a solution. I really do. When are you seeing him next?’
I sit forward, heart lifting. ‘In a few days? Maybe?’
‘Well.’ She claps her hands together. ‘I’ve got quite a few boring errands to run tomorrow, so why don’t you keep me company? Your dad’s busy in the studio, fixing that continuation problem. And you’d be a huge help. Plus, it’ll give us plenty of time to work out our next step.’
A bolt of hope shoots across my chest. ‘Really? You honestly think there’s still a chance for us?’
‘Absolutely.’ Roz smiles. ‘We’ll figure out what to do together.’
I take the
longest bath of my entire life.
Roz lights dozens of vanilla-fragranced candles and puts them round the edge of the sunken marble tub, then pours in so much bubble bath that it looks like the top of a lemon-meringue pie. I soak for two whole hours, and once I’m out – wrapped in fluffy warm towels – I’m so sleepy and wrinkled I’m like a little yawning raisin.
‘Right,’ Roz says as I crawl into bed and shuffle under the covers. She pulls the duvet up to my chin. ‘Sleep for as long as possible, please. Twelve or thirteen hours, fourteen if you want to be a champ.’
Then she starts tucking the duvet under the mattress, all the way round the bed like a pie.
I stare at her sleepily. What is she doing?
‘Roz,’ I say, eyes drifting. ‘Thanks for your help, but I’m nearly sixteen years old. I don’t need tucking i—’
It’s midday when I wake up.
Roz is already waiting in the dining room. On the table is an enormous brunch: a jug of orange juice, a vat of coffee, croissants, eggs, bacon, jam, peanut butter, maple syrup.
‘Sit,’ she commands as I stare at it. ‘Eat. I want it all gone, please. If the Californian government find out it’s not kale and grapes, they’ll take us both straight to federal prison.’
I have literally never been this hungry. What have I been eating over the last few weeks? Have I been eating? Did I just completely forget food and drink existed? At what point did I start surviving purely off air and sunshine without even noticing?
Unbearably starving, I grab a piece of bacon and stuff it straight into my mouth.
‘Sit down,’ Roz laughs. ‘And chew – you’re not an alligator.’ Then she sticks a neon-yellow Post-it on the table next to me. ‘Your dad left this for you before he went to work. He’s had to leave early again and he’s sorry, but he should be done by the weekend. So just hold on a few more days.’
I look at the note:
Remember that time Dad was blown away by how kind his youngest daughter is, and how much he loves her. xxx
My eyes well up again.
What is wrong with me? Where is all this salt water coming from?
‘Cool,’ I nod, carefully folding the note up and putting it in my pocket. ‘Sure, whatever.’
With a tiny smile, I polish off everything on the table. Then I start looking round for more food.
‘Soooo—’ Oooh, brioche! ‘I was just thinking, Roz. The thing with Jamie is he doesn’t like casual people, but he doesn’t like intense people, either. So maybe I should back off, give him some space, not text for a while, come across as more aloof—’
‘Hmmm, that might work.’ Roz nods as we wander into the sunshine towards her dusty grey car. ‘Let’s ponder over it as we run these errands, shall we? I’m afraid our first stop is The Grove mall so I can source a gift for my friend’s daughter. Something fashionable. It’s out of my comfort zone – as you can see from my awesome khaki shorts – so I’m going to need your help.’
‘Mall?’ My stomach starts to fizz violently. ‘We’re going … shopping?’
I haven’t been shopping in—
Have I ever been shopping?
I went once or twice with Mum when I was little, but the paparazzi followed us so she changed her mind and brought me home again. I don’t have my own credit card yet (such a shame) so online is out too. My version of shopping is breaking into my sisters’ rooms, seeing what fits best and sneaking it out again.
‘Umm,’ I swallow, heart hammering. Be cool be cool be cool. I lean effortlessly on the car door. ‘Oh yeah, I don’t mind shopping, I guess, maybe, for a bit. I mean, no pain, no game, right?’
Shopppppppiinnnnnnngggggggg.
‘No pain no game indeed,’ Roz smiles, turning on the engine.
The Grove is nothing like anything I’ve ever seen. It’s outdoors, with pretty fountains and statues and cute little tables with parasols lining the sunny streets. Every building is a unique, beautiful design – a tower or a castle or a glass box – and each is also a shop.
It’s exactly how I imagine Disney World is, except way better because instead of massive mice there are shoes and clothes and earrings and make-up and handbags you can take home with you. Maybe this is the happiest place on earth.
‘Oooh!’ I say three hours later. ‘What about this?’
Roz and I have been wandering slowly, carefully exploring every shop we find – Barneys, Nordstrom, Banana Republic, Sephora – and we’ve managed to find her friend’s daughter a really nice cheekbone highlighter. We also found me one too, plus a denim jumpsuit, a pair of Nike trainers, a new coat, my very own MAC palette, suede flats and a whole new moisturising system.
Platinum is just not the right metal for my skin type.
‘I love it!’ Roz nods approvingly at the dress I’m holding up. It’s short and red and blue and green and purple and blue, which sounds gross, but I promise you it is a thing of beauty and wonder. ‘I’m not sure if it’ll fit my friend’s daughter, though. Could you try it on for me so I can see?’
I beam widely. It’s so lucky I’m exactly the same size and height as whatever-her-name-is.
‘Sure.’ I shrug, hopping into a changing room. ‘On it.’
Then I come out and stand in front of the mirror and my chest pings with happiness. The dress isn’t neon Lycra sports gear. It’s not loaned designer and it’s not black. It isn’t too big, or too small, or too long. It’s not Mercy, Faith or Mum: it’s bright and happy.
It’s … me.
‘We’ll take it, please.’ Roz smiles at the assistant. ‘I’m not completely sure if this is my friend’s daughter’s style, Hope, so you might have to keep this one until I’ve checked with her mom.’
Yes yes yes—
‘Oh,’ I say coolly, putting a hand on my hip. Be the Orange, Hope. ‘Yeah. I mean, if I absolutely have to.’
Shopppinnngggggg.
Arms now laden with shopping bags, Roz and I keep wandering. ‘We used to do this all the time when I was your age,’ she tells me as we each chew on a red liquorice stick. ‘Me and my buddies. We’d hang out here after school, try on lipsticks, eat cheesecake and maybe go see a terrible movie. What about you?’
‘Oh,’ I say, nodding. ‘Yeah. Me too! I mean, my school is in the library at home so … But I do totally try on lipsticks and eat cheesecake and watch movies, though.’
‘With your sisters?’
‘Absolutely.’ I nod fervently. ‘Almost always. Sometimes.’ I shuffle a bag on my arm. ‘Now and then. I mean, when they’re around. Although … Effie’s got a boyfriend and Mercy’s a bit of a party animal. And Max isn’t really interested in that stuff because he’s nearly twenty. So … it’s usually just me.’
A short silence.
‘At least you’ve got that lovely huge mansion in Richmond.’ Roz smiles gently. ‘All to yourself. I’ve seen photos. It’s incredible: all those big rooms and beautiful grounds. There must be so much to do!’
‘Absolutely!’ I smile, perking up. ‘So much to do. It’s so fun, and so pretty, and – and—’ I pause for a few moments. ‘I mean, it is quiet a lot of the time. And empty. Sometimes I can go literally days and days and days without seeing or speaking to another human being.’
Another silence.
‘But that’s completely fine,’ I add quickly. ‘There’s only three months left to go so I’ve had time to prepare properly.’
Roz’s eyebrows lift. ‘Three months until what?’
‘Until I turn sixteen and my real life starts.’ I breathe out with a familiar flash of excitement. ‘I’m not sure how it’ll happen exactly, but when it does it’s going to be brilliant.’
‘That must be very reassuring.’ Roz smiles and clicks open her car boot to start loading the bags with my – I mean her friend’s daughter’s – things in them. ‘When I was a teenager, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with my future.’ She grimaces. ‘My parents were both dentists and I have a phobia of teeth and blood and … dentists, sadl
y.’
I giggle.
‘I guess I’ve always known,’ I explain sympathetically. ‘I’m going to be a great Hollywood acting legend, just like my mum, my grandma and my great-grandma. I’m a Valentine, you see, so it’s kind of figured out for us.’
‘Very handy.’ Roz grins. ‘Wow, all that time I spent trying to work out who I was and what I loved. Worrying about what I wanted my life to look like. You know, Hope, this is so embarrassing … but I actually used to go down to the fortune-teller machines on Santa Monica Pier and get my fate printed out on chits of paper. To see if they could give me a pointer as to what direction to take. Some comfort. I don’t know … support? Ridiculous, huh?’
‘Yeah,’ I laugh. ‘I mean, how are machines going to know? I tend to use horoscopes. That kind of knowledge is usually reserved for the zodiac and the universe and the internet.’
Roz gazes steadily at me over the top of the car roof.
‘And yet somehow you’ve managed to escape all of that teenage angst,’ she says in a soft voice. ‘All that chaos. All that worry. All that mess. All those decisions and choices.’
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘I am very, very lucky.’
My eyes are abruptly full of tears again and I have zero idea why.
‘Sorry.’ I turn away quickly and brush my face. ‘I’m not normally like this, I promise. I’m normally a really upbeat person. It’s, like, my thing.’
We climb into the car.
With a shake of my head, I clear my throat, rearrange my features and start going through the shopping bag in my hand. Oooh, my new eyeshadow palette. I think when I get home I’m going to start with a neutral base, then put that light blue one on the lid, then a dark navy cut-in and a cat’s eye of this liquid liner so that—
‘You know,’ Roz says as she taps the steering wheel thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes I think happiness is overrated.’
Blinking, I look up. ‘Huh?’
‘Well, maybe happiness is somewhat like a road. And maybe we get so focused on the stretch directly ahead of us, we forget that sadness and pain and anger and fear are the signposts, telling us which direction to go. They’re not much fun to look at. Sometimes it feels like they’re spoiling the view. But we need them there to stop us driving the wrong way.’
