Chapter 4
‘So you’ve finally had the sense to dump that eejit?’ Clare unwrapped her scarf, slipped off her coat and handed me both. ‘Could you not have left it there? Why pack in your job as well?’ Without waiting for an answer, she headed into my bedroom.
I hung her coat up then followed her. She was stretched out on the bed, high-heeled brown suede boots dumped in the doorway. I tutted and moved them to the side.
‘Don’t you ever wear jeans like a normal person?’ I nodded towards her never-ending legs.
Clare gave me a dazzling smile and ran her fingers down her expensive-looking soft cream fitted jumper and short brown cashmere skirt. ‘Normal my arse. I like to ooze sophistication. Do you like the new outfit now?’
‘It’s gorgeous. You been shopping in Primark again?’
She grabbed Mr Pink and hurled him at me. ‘Wash your mouth out.’
I picked up my teddy and gave him a hug. ‘Well you should have gone shopping in Primark because that doesn’t look very practical for helping me pack.’
Clare propped herself up on her elbows. ‘I texted to say you can do all the dirty work. My role is to lie here and direct. Packing’s a good chance for a clear-out so we’ll start with your clothes. I’ll tell you what you can keep. Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing you a favour, so I am.’
‘In what way?’
‘By the time I’m finished, you’ll have a lot less crap to fit in the van tomorrow.’
‘How rude.’
‘Although you won’t need to worry about any of it if I can convince you to change your mind and stay…?’
‘I’m sorry.’ I pushed her legs to one side so I could perch on the bed. ‘You know I’ll miss you loads but this is too good an opportunity. I had to take it.’
She sighed. ‘I know. I’m probably the one who should be saying sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For being such a crap friend.’
‘Because you’ve been sulking all week?’ I stuck my tongue out and tapped her on the arm with Mr Pink.
‘I’ve been a lot more crap than that.’
‘You haven’t been seeing Jason behind my back have you?’
She sat upright. ‘Jey-sus. Are you mad? When I say I can’t stand him, I’m not hiding some deep carnal lust; I’m being honest. Even if I did fancy him — which I definitely don’t — I’d never, ever do something like that to you. No man would ever be worth losing you over.’
I smiled at the rare show of sentimentality. ‘I was joking. So what have you done?’
Clare sighed and lay back down again with her hands over her face. ‘It’s more a case of what I haven’t done,’ she muttered.
‘So what haven’t you done, then?’
She took her hands away and looked at me sadly. ‘I haven’t been there for you. I’ve known how miserable you’ve been at work and with Jason for the past year and I haven’t said anything to encourage you to talk about it.’
‘You knew? How? I never said a word.’
‘You didn’t have to. I knew because I know you, Sarah. We’ve been friends for twelve years and lived together for three of those. You don’t know someone that well and not notice when they’re miserable.’
‘I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Because of all this.’ She sat up again and pointed to the chaos of part-packed boxes and crates spread round the room. ‘I figured that if I encouraged you to talk about your worries, you’d finally come to your senses, ditch your man Jason and quit your job. So I selfishly kept quiet because if you had no Jason and no job, why would you want to stay in London with me? Especially when, despite your protests, I know you’ve never really settled here. And now I wish I had said something because you’re leaving anyway and I feel like a great big pile of crap for ignoring you when I knew you needed me. So I’d understand if you’re mad at me and want to throw me out.’
I shook my head. ‘If I was mad at you, I’d have to be mad at my parents, our Ben, Auntie Kay, Elise and everyone else I know because, if you noticed, any of them could noticed and brought it up yet nobody said a word. It wasn’t your responsibility to force it out of me. If I’d wanted to talk about it, I’d have talked about it.’
‘So we’re good?’
‘We’re good.’
Clare exhaled loudly. ‘That’s a relief. I could do with a drink after all that heavy stuff. Can I suggest you open a bottle of wine then tell me everything. Jason, job, floristry; the lot.’
‘It’s only eleven. Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?’
‘Wine please.’
When I returned with two glasses, Clare was fussing Kit and Kat who’d wandered in from the cold.
‘About time too.’ She held out her hand. ‘It’s like the Sahara in here.’ She took a long gulp. ‘That’s better. Now take the weight off your feet and tell me all about the ditching of your man.’
‘The packing?’ I protested.
‘The packing can wait. If you lend me a T-shirt I may even help you but first I need to know everything. Start with that gobshite.’ She patted the bed and I obediently sat beside her.
‘The start of the end was my birthday last year when Jason bought me a gym membership instead of proposing…’
Ninety minutes later, we’d emptied the bottle and Clare was up to date.
‘You make out like it was some major decision about the shop,’ she said. ‘But you hate your job, you hate the Bank, you hate London and you’re suddenly single. Surely your Auntie Kay’s offer was a no-brainer. I doubt many people get handed a successful business for free doing something they absolutely love.’
‘I don’t hate any of those things. I just don’t love them any more.’ Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘It’s semantics but it was a really tough decision. There were pros and cons to each. I had to do lots of weighing up.’
‘Don’t tell me you got your post-it notes out.’
I rolled off the bed and opened my wardrobe doors. Stuck to the inside of the left door were a stack of brightly coloured post-it notes listing the pros and cons of staying in London and, on the right door, a Whitsborough Bay list. I pointed to them. ‘Ta-dah!’
Clare picked up her glass again, drained it, and then put it back down. ‘I can’t believe you make all your major life decisions through post-it notes.’
‘It helps structure my thinking.’
She shook her head. ‘I trust I’m top of your pros list for staying here?’
‘Of course. In capitals.’
‘I should think so too.’ She squinted across the room. ‘I don’t believe it. You’ve colour coded them this time, haven’t you?’
‘And my pen colours,’ I said, realising too late that it probably wasn’t something to be proud of.
‘That is so pitiful, I could cry for you. Remind me again why I’m friends with you?’
I smiled. ‘Because nobody else will put up with your bolshiness.’
‘Fair point.’ She stood up and headed towards the wardrobes then turned round again and nodded at her glass. ‘I’m empty.’
When I returned, she was standing in front of the wardrobe looking down the lists.
‘I see Elise is at the top of your pro list for home and your con list for here,’ she said without turning round.
‘And, as already stated, you’re at the top of my con list for home and my pro list for here,’ I said.
‘I suppose.’ She shut the wardrobe doors. ‘I could have helped you move your stuff home, you know. You didn’t have to enlist her.’
‘Her uncle has a van. It made sense for her to drive it down rather than hire one and have the dilemma of where to return it to.’
‘When’s she coming?’
‘Tomorrow at lunchtime. She’d have come today but there’
s some family thing she can’t avoid.’
‘In that case, I’ll reluctantly help you pack today providing you keep the wine flowing, but you’ll have to manage without me tomorrow.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine. Glad we’ve got that sorted. Will you start packing now or are you going to waste the rest of the day gossiping?’
I opened a drawer then tossed an old T-shirt to Clare. While she changed, I pulled a chair over to the wardrobe to climb on, trying to ignore her negativity towards Elise. It hurt that my two closest friends hated each other and I was always stuck in the middle.
Elise had been my best friend since our first day at primary school. I’d retreated to a corner of the classroom, sobbing my heart out after my mum left me. The teacher had obviously lost patience in trying to soothe me and had left me to it. After thirty minutes or so, I had no tears left but was too scared to join any of the other children playing, so I’d sat with my head buried under my jumper until a gentle voice said, ‘Will you play in the sand pit with me, please?’ I’d pulled my jumper off my head and looked up to see a pretty little redhead standing over me with a bucket and spade in one hand and her other hand outstretched to take mine.
My friendship with Clare had also been forged while I was in tears but many years later on my first day at Manchester University. My parents had just left me in the dark, grotty room that was to be my home for the next year. Surrounded by boxes and suitcases and wondering where to start unpacking, the enormity of leaving home to live in a huge city hit me and a feeling of absolute loneliness engulfed me. I suddenly pictured myself like Uncle Alan, all alone, with no friends and nothing to do but sit in the library studying. The floodgates opened. I’d jumped when an Irish voice declared loudly, ‘Jesus, I thought my room was a shit-hole but yours definitely wins the prize for dump of the year.’
I’d looked up to see a tall girl leaning against the doorframe. She was the most stunning female I’d ever seen in real life: legs up to her armpits, long blonde hair so shiny that she looked fresh out of a shampoo advert, and eyes as green as emeralds. ‘I’m Clare O’Connell.’ She didn’t wait for me to give my name; just continued talking. ‘Have you never heard of travelling light? Jesus, how many suitcases and boxes does one girl need? You’d think you were here for ten years at a time; not ten weeks.’ She moved over to a crate holding my CDs and started rummaging. ‘At least your taste in music is okay. Oh, wait. I spoke too soon. This album is a bag of shite.’ She picked out a CD — can’t remember what now — and tossed it in the bin. Through my tears, I stared at her then at the bin. I didn’t know whether to shout at her or laugh.
‘It’ll take you forever to get all this crap in order and there are far better ways we could be spending our time right now. We’re off to the pub.’
‘Are we?’ I’d never met anyone that confident and didn’t know how to react. She was scary… but also quite exciting.
‘Might as well start as we mean to go on,’ Clare continued. ‘Grab your purse, wipe that snot off your face and let’s go. First beer’s on you and you’d better not tell me you don’t drink pints. Or even worse, that you don’t drink at all. Because if that’s the case, we’re not going to be friends.’
‘I drink, but…’ I tailed off. I didn’t dare confess I’d never had a pint in my life. University was going to be full of learning experiences and perhaps drinking pints was one I should embrace.
Six hours and way too many pints of Irish ale later (another new learning experience) Clare and I started a lifelong friendship. I also started a horrendous hangover.
I’d automatically assumed that my two best friends would bond immediately. Elise had visited me at university the following term and I couldn’t wait to introduce them. The first hour in the pub seemed to go well but I returned from the ladies to find them in a heated debate about marriage and religion. It had been handbags at dawn ever since.
‘Ready,’ Clare said. ‘You can start passing stuff down.’
I handed down boxes and crates from the deep top shelves. ‘Christ, you have lots of crap,’ she said. ‘I seem to remember you had a lot at uni but you’ve certainly added to it. What’s in these?’
I shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue. Mum and Dad brought them down last year. They’d got sick of nagging Ben and me to clear out our old bedrooms so they could re-decorate so they did it for us.’
Clare looked at the pile she’d just created. ‘It’s all your childhood crap then? Are we going to find naked Barbie dolls with shaved heads and dodgy old school photos?’
‘Possibly. A lot of it can probably be ditched. How about you look through that purple crate and I’ll start on this box? Keep anything that seems interesting or valuable and I’ll recycle the rest.’
Clare knelt on the floor and started rummaging. ‘This one’s boring,’ she said after less than ten minutes.
‘What’s in it?’ I looked up from the box of old board games I’d found. I’d been tempted to challenge Clare to a game of Kerplunk or Buckaroo but had to remind myself that I’d never be packed by the time Elise arrived if we didn’t crack on.
‘Old school books,’ Clare said. ‘I’ve flicked through a couple to see the teacher’s comments but you were obviously a girly swot cos they’re all good.’
‘Would you have expected anything else?’
Clare looked me up and down. ‘Nah. I knew you were a girly swot the moment I met you. I’m bored. Give me an interesting box.’
‘I’ve never opened them,’ I said. ‘I don’t know which ones are interesting. Why don’t you try that cardboard one there?’
Clare crawled over to a medium-sized cardboard box and ripped off the parcel tape. I heard sounds of her rummaging for a bit. ‘What’s this?’ I looked up as she pulled out a rolled up piece of pale pink paper with a dark pink satin ribbon tied round it, like a scroll.
Oh no. She’s found my—
‘“Life Plan of Sarah Louise Peterson, age almost fourteen,”’ she read as she unfurled it. ‘You have got to be jesting.’
I put my hands over my eyes and felt my cheeks burn my palms. Trust me to direct Clare to the most embarrassing box in the world ever. She wanted ‘interesting’? She’d just found it!
Life Plan of Sarah Louise Peterson, age almost 14
Age 20–21: Meet gorgeous, kind, generous, funny, rich boyfriend with dark hair and blue eyes
Age 22: Get engaged
Proposal: On a red dragon boat on the boating lake in Hearnshaw Park. (Update Age 22: proposal abroad — Venice? Rome?)
Ring: Gold with sapphires and diamonds (Update Age 22: platinum with solitaire diamond)
Age 24: Get married in pretty church. Reception in Sherrington Hall
Dress: Big white dress with puffy sleeves and long train. Wear tiara and veil. Hair piled in curls on top of head (Update Age 22: ivory dress with short train, no puffy sleeves and perhaps not so BIG! Tiara good though — want to be a princess!)
Bridesmaids: Lots of bridesmaids wearing peach frilly dresses with big sleeves (Update Age 22: Eek! Just Elise and Clare. NOT peach! Definitely no frills or big sleeves)
Age 26: First child — boy
Age 28: Twins — one of each
Age 30: Fourth child — girl
(Update Age 22: 2 children. What was I thinking?!)
Animals: A dog, 2 cats and a rabbit
Home: Cottage in Old Town with sea views, big garden, roses round the door — just like Auntie Kay’s
Life: Will live happily ever after with husband who adores me just like mum & dad and have children who are funny, clever and beautiful. Will NOT be alone like Uncle Alan. Ever.
I swear it took twenty minutes before Clare managed to finish reading it out loud (essential for maximum humiliation effect) because she was laughing so much.
‘My sides hurt,’ she said finally, wiping her eyes. ‘I don’
t know what’s most funny — you writing it in first place or you taking the time to update it in your twenties. IN YOUR TWENTIES! And you called yourself a princess. IN. YOUR. TWENTIES!’
‘It was an important document at the time.’ I folded my arms and glared at her. I meant it. Written shortly after I’d found Uncle Alan, my Life Plan had been deadly serious and was my way of avoiding ending up like him. I’d really believed it would happen. ‘And I’ll just point out that I was an emotional wreck after splitting up with Andy when I added to it. And possibly a bit drunk. You know I wasn’t in a good place after it ended with him.’
Clare nodded. ‘I remember. So, Sarah Louise Peterson, aged thirty-and-eight-days, what exactly have you achieved off your Life Plan?’
‘Two cats.’ I looked towards Kit and Kat curled up on the duvet. Tears pricked my eyes from the overwhelming disappointment of it all. ‘How useless am I?’ My voice caught in my throat.
‘Not useless,’ Clare said softly. ‘Sad? Yes. Pathetic? Yes. An eejit? Yes. But not useless.’
‘I think there’s a compliment in there. Somewhere.’ I smiled weakly.
‘There is.’
We sat in silence for a while.
‘Does it bother you?’ she asked.
‘Does what?’
‘That you’ve only got the cats? That you still haven’t found the man of your dreams and your happily ever after?’
‘Yes, it bothers me. I’m thirty-years-old and I’m single again. What if I never meet someone? What if I never get married and have kids?’
‘Then you don’t get married and have kids. So what? You can’t force these things. Actually, you can, but you wouldn’t get your happily ever after. Would you rather be married to your man Jason right now with a sprog on the way and be miserable or would you rather be single again with the possibility that it may or may not happen?’
‘Neither! I’d rather be single than with Jason. Definitely no regrets there. But I don’t like the thought of that being the case for the rest of my life. I always wanted to marry and have a family.’
Searching for Steven (Whitsborough Bay Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
