‘That was thingy, wasn’t it? The boy from the party and Soho Square. Ginger Teenager.’ Rosie looks at me from the doorway of her bedroom at the other end of the hall, her mouth half open with disbelief and a look somewhere between hysterical laughter and self-righteous preaching hovering around her eyes. How am I going to handle this one? She crooks her finger at me and beckons me to follow her into the living-room.
‘So, you’re telling me you’ve been out with Ginger Boy? You, know, secretly?’ She’s looking at me as if I’ve dropped in from another planet as she flops on to the sofa.
‘I was planning to tell you. I mean, we didn’t exactly go out together, it just sort of happened, you know. One minute I’m being all responsible and letting him down gently and the next minute he’s getting my kit off in the back of a cab, you know how it goes.’
Rosie bursts into shocked laughter. She starts to count on her fingers.
‘But he’s, like, twelve years younger than you. When he was born you were … wearing a ra-ra skirt and fantasising over Limahl.’
I interrupt her. ‘Yeah, yeah, been there, done all that stuff. I know he’s too young for me and that’s why I only saw him for a bit and I’m not about to go on a Kilroy special about forbidden love to announce our engagement. But for a while there, the age gap thing didn’t matter. He was so … refreshing and new.’ I try to explain what it was about Michael but it seems that Rosie can’t keep her mind out of the gutter.
‘My God! You busted him! What’s it like doing it with a virgin? Was it crap? Did you have to go on top? Did you droop? Did he?’
I smile and shake my head. This reminds me of our old sleepover days, and I’m relieved that she seems to be letting me off so lightly.
‘Honestly, Rosie, all you think about is sex, sex, sex. Actually, he was pretty good after a few practices.’ Rosie clasps a cushion to her face with embarrassment. I smile. ‘And let’s just say what he lacked in expertise he more than made up for in stamina!’ We both giggle and I settle down next to her on the sofa.
‘But actually what I meant, when I said refreshing, was that he isn’t jaded by life or relationships. He still sees the wonder of everything, the possibility of a future. After Owen it was nice to be with someone like that for a while. Yes, I admit it was partly an exercise in pretending I’m not a thirty-year-old with no prospects. It started out that way, but well, if things had been different I could have fallen for him maybe. If he’d shut up about Star Wars and heavy metal for five minutes.’
Rosie tucks the cushion back behind her back, her smile fading. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Her tone has gone from curious hilarity to slightly defensive.
‘Well, you know. He’s ginger,’ I say, trying to go for a laugh.
She smiles but persists. ‘No, but really?’ I look around the room and try and think of a way to say that if anyone had known they would have spoilt it. It was never meant to be something real enough to talk about, but somehow I can’t bring myself to say that, to show how messed up I still am.
‘Well, why didn’t you tell us about Chris wanting to get back with you?’ I retort unwisely.
‘I did!’
Oh yeah. She did. Plan B. ‘OK, why didn’t you tell us about the baby, when you’d known for ages?’
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. ‘Jen, that is so different, and you know it.’
I shift in my chair. ‘Well, we don’t always tell each other everything. We’re not obliged to. I don’t know why, OK? One or two things have been going on around here recently in case you haven’t noticed. It didn’t seem important.’ I think about the e-mails and messages from Owen that I haven’t told anyone about either. Talking about things means you have to accept that they are real.
Rosie sighs. ‘It’s just that we used to tell each other everything. We used to be close. Maybe too close. Maybe you just didn’t want to hear the truth from people who know you better than you know yourself.’
Maybe, and maybe I don’t want to start now. ‘Well, you can talk, you won’t listen to anything we’ve told you about Chris. I mean, you’re still thinking about getting back with him, aren’t you? After all he did to you?’
Rosie bristles visibly and turns to face me. ‘You really don’t know him, you only think you know the bit of him that hurt me, the image of him that I created in order to get over what had happened. That was just a part of him. When you get past that stuff he’s … well, I didn’t go up the aisle because I thought he was all right. I married him because I loved him, really loved him. And love like that doesn’t just disappear after a few months. I think I still love him. He says he still loves me, he says that he ran away from it all because it all seemed too much too soon, but now he realises what he’s almost lost. He says this time he’s grown up enough to handle how much he cares about me. Me and the baby. When you get hurt you have to pretend it was all a mistake, and maybe getting married so quickly was, but the more I think about it the more I think that Chris and I weren’t a mistake, the more I think we’re exactly right.’
After everything we’ve been through together I can’t believe that she doesn’t see what I see, or remember what I remember. That she is repeating an almost exact rendition of one of Owen’s speeches that she always told me was a load of crap.
‘You think what? Christ, Rosie, don’t you remember what he did to you? Don’t you remember he packed your bags for you before he told you he’d met someone else? Don’t you remember that he told you that you were too boring in bed and the thought of being married to you for the rest of his life made him feel suffocated? That he told you you were too clingy? Too demanding? Because I do, I remember the nights and nights and weeks and weeks of listening to all the things he said and did to you. Christ, he can’t even commit to his cat, the poor thing moved in with his neighbours and he didn’t even notice! Do you think he’s going to commit to you and a baby once the novelty’s worn off? You stupid little fool. You have no idea.’ I shake my head.
‘You sanctimonious cow,’ Rosie snaps at me, her venom hitting me in the face with the full force of her sudden anger.
‘All this time you’ve been fucking doing my head in about Chris, coming all high and mighty with me and you’ve been shagging some kid behind my back, behind all our backs! What the fuck did you think you were doing? He’s eighteen, for Christ’s sake! At least I’m trying to sort out an adult life. You’re too messed up to even try. You’ll be scrubbing around in pubs and clubs, getting used up by going-nowhere scum, still getting paid shit money in the same dead-end job ten years from now.’
Her portrait of the future I most fear pushes me further into a red rage.
‘Well, at least I’m not thinking of throwing my life away with some bastard serial philanderer! Don’t you ever learn? You want to end up like both our mums, used up and stranded, traded in for this month’s latest model?’
Rosie shakes her head and her tone drops to quiet fury.
‘Have you ever noticed that every single opinion you have about men comes back to your dad? Every single man you’ve ever been with has got something to do with him. Your whole relationship with Owen was about finding a replacement dad, someone older, someone who’ll keep you in line, tell you what to do. You think it was Owen who wore down your self-esteem and broke you up. But it was your dad, the day he left you. It always has been. Owen just played around with the pieces he left behind. You judge every single relationship you see by the way your father treated you. You think you’ve made it without him, but that’s bollocks. You’ve never got over him. Not ever. He’s still ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know or care.’
I shake my head at her, speechless with anger and hurt.
‘That’s not true,’ I whisper.
‘You don’t know Chris. You only see one side of him,’ she repeats, getting up to leave. I shake my head and tuck my feet up under my knees.
‘I’m sorry to hurt you, Jen, but I think maybe it’s time you woke up and took a good look
at yourself. I’ll see you later.’
The door slams and she is gone, leaving me alone with Michael, Owen and my father.
I have been looking at the Artex on my bedroom ceiling for around two hours now, but so far its swirls and peaks have not revealed any secrets which might get me out of the mess I am currently in. I feel guilty on about every count I can possibly conceive of. Guilty about how Michael is feeling, guilty about how I upset his mother, guilty that I was late for Ayla, guilty that I have been so caught up in myself over the last few weeks that I have hardly noticed whatever’s going on in Selin’s life, guilty that I’ve stressed Rosie out when she’s pregnant and in need of my support. And to cap all that I feel guilty about how I have treated myself, hiding from the ghost of Owen in any corner or excuse I could find, bouncing off the walls of our relationship yet again, trying to pretend to myself that I’ve put it all behind me. Just look at the last few months. Who am I trying to kid? Not even I am going to be suckered by that line any more. Well, no more, he has nothing to do with my life, my decisions or my actions any more.
I don’t know if Rosie is right about my dad or not, I don’t know if I want to know. But I do know one thing: if he, she or anyone else thinks that I am where I am because of him, or because of anyone, I’m not having it. Everything I do, everywhere I go from now on, is because of me.
I’ve got to try and sort out the gaps that have pulled us all apart over the last few weeks.
Maybe it’s not that hard; all I’ve got to do is try to explain myself to Rosie, have one last-ditch attempt at making her see what a mistake getting back with Chris would be, discuss everything with Selin, really find out how’s she’s doing, and come clean about my secret love life with her. That’s all. I have exactly a month before I’m thirty to find out what I really want from my future, maybe even get on a journalism course, sign up for driving lessons. That will leave only one ambition totally unfulfilled and frankly I never did really think I would cut it as a jazz-club diva. Between you and me, I’m not entirely convinced that I can actually sing.
In fantasy arguments, friends, enemies and boyfriends never interrupt you. They are usually wildly impressed with your rhetoric and you are allowed to make a dramatic exit before they run after you agreeing with absolutely everything you say, begging for your forgiveness and thanking you for the enlightenment you have bestowed upon them. I’m an optimistic girl. It could happen. But just in case it doesn’t, I am fully prepared to grovel. I just want my friends back.
Chapter Forty-six
Well, the best-laid plans of mice and men and quarter-life-crisis chicks don’t always come off, it seems.
For the last two weeks I have hardly seen Rosie. She came back later on the day Michael’s mum came round and we looked at each other for a long moment before she sat down.
‘Do you remember when we used to go out Friday nights, stay in the pub all day Saturday and then go out again?’ I asked her, faced suddenly with the prospect of yet another weekend in.
‘Well, things change,’ she said flatly.
‘Rosie, please let’s not let this get out of hand,’ I’d said, ready to launch into the speech I had worked on most of the afternoon. ‘We’ve been through a hard year, we’ve been through a lot together, so let’s not fall out now over what are, after all, only men …’
But Rosie didn’t want to hear my speech. ‘Nope, let’s not. OK? I’m off for a bath, see you later.’ Interrupted mid-soliloquy, I watched her retreating back. It could have gone worse, I suppose.
Since then we have smiled at each other across the breakfast table; Rosie takes all her calls in her bedroom when she’s in the flat and a lot of the time she isn’t here. I wonder who she is with?
One day at work Georgie forced me to attend a debrief with Jackson over how the exchange had gone so far, on the pretext that I’d have valuable input but really so that I could take the minutes. After an hour and a half with only bottled water for refreshment, I collared him in the corridor and said, ‘Do you see Rosie a lot?’
He looked me up and down and said, ‘Some. Why?’
We continued to walk back to our offices.
‘Well, Jackson, I think if you saw Rosie that much you’d know why,’ I said, convinced now that she was seeing more and more of Chris.
‘You mean you think I’d know more about the affair with the teenage kid and your views on Chris and your latest big row and the frosty atmosphere round your house?’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, if you know why haven’t you said anything?’
‘Well, because I like Rosie a lot. I like you a lot. But despite this and my considerable abundance of talent and charm, neither of you will sleep with me and frankly spending any time worrying over your latest schoolgirl fall-outs seems to me to be pretty pointless. Now if I was getting laid by at least one of you, I might pretend to take an interest.’
My face must have been a picture of horror because he laughed and patted me on the back.
‘Oh guys, hey?’ he joked, rolling his eyes. ‘No, stupid, do you want to know the real reason?’
I nodded.
‘OK, so hear me out, OK? Rosie and I have talked a lot. She was pissed at you, sure, because you got into that whole teenage thing – which by the way I do want to hear more about some time – and because you didn’t tell her anything about it until some middle-aged axe-wielding maniac mom turned up. You know, you two have always talked about everything. I think she minded that more than anything. But also, considering how close you are, it seems that you just don’t want to listen to how she feels about Chris. It seems that you’ve built up this image of him as a monster that you have to rescue her from. Granted, it’s an image to which she did initially contribute, but hey, you’ve broken up with a few guys, right? You don’t exactly paint them as Mr Nice in the aftermath, but maybe a few weeks or months or years later you might think, “Oh well, he wasn’t that bad.” Right?’
I thought about Mr Philosophy who left me because despite the fact that I didn’t love him I wanted him to love me so much that I badgered and pestered him into a commitment he wasn’t ready for. About six months after we broke up he met Miss Right. Got engaged and got cats. Jackson’s right, I don’t think he is such an evil heartless bastard now. In his position I’d have done the same thing. But Chris is different.
Jackson continued. ‘Well, we’ve talked a lot about it over the last few weeks and believe me, I’ve tried every machiavellian trick in the book to get her to think that he’s not the one and run back home with me, but the more we talk the more I think I might be wrong, much as it depresses me. The more I think about it, that whole marriage-divorce fiasco might just have been one of life’s regular reality-check mess-ups, not a modern interpretation of a Jacobean revenge tragedy. In fact, I’ve met Chris. And I hate him, but that’s because I’m in love with Rosie. Objectively? He’s immature, sure, a bit too “English” for my taste, maybe needed a bit longer to shop around before seeing what a good thing he had with Rosie, but he’s no wife beater. He’s not evil, just misguided. He’s just a guy who got it wrong big time and wants a second chance.’
We paused outside my goldfish bowl and I leant my forehead against the glass.
‘You weren’t there, Jackson, after it happened. You didn’t see her. If you’d seen her you’d understand,’ I said wearily.
‘Well, maybe, but my point is I like you a lot and I like Rosie a lot. I don’t want to fall out with either of you, so if you want to talk about stuff, as long as it’s not fast-track global invoicing systems, then let’s talk. But I won’t be doing any go-between stuff or telling you what she said and her what you said, and that’s the last time I offer my opinion. OK?’
‘Fair enough.’ I didn’t want to fall out with Jackson as well.
‘Now, office-machine coffee or ritual suicide by biro?’
‘Ritual suicide by biro, please.’
I did eventually see Selin. Both Rosie and I had left messages on her answerp
hone every other day, and one of our few conversation topics recently has been:
‘Heard from Selin?’
‘No, you?’
‘No.’
Getting more and more concerned about her, I decided to walk past her office window one evening on my way back from work and sure enough I saw her dark head still bent over her office desk.
I rattled the door but it was locked so I knocked, and she looked at me for a moment before letting me in. She looked thinner, fragile.
‘Selin, we’ve been so worried about you. Are you OK?’
She smiled and took my hand and hugged me.
‘OK as I can be. I’m sorry, Jen, don’t take it personally, I’ve just been spending time with the family. I’ve got your messages and I’ve been meaning to return your calls, but never seemed to find the time. After a while you dread someone asking you how you are. Not that I’m not glad to know you care or anything,’ she added hastily.
‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘I understand.’ But I felt hurt nonetheless that she hadn’t wanted me. Every crisis that had happened to me, I had always wanted her, but then nothing this big had ever happened to me.
‘How are things at home?’ I asked. Despite her declaration of dread, there really didn’t seem to be very much more I could say. I sat opposite her desk and looked at a poster depicting a Cypriot coastline that hung on the wall above her shoulder.
‘Well, quiet, devastated … you know. The shock has worn off now; we’re just left with the grief and the empty space without her. Surprisingly, Mum’s doing the best, cooking her way through the whole thing – but she’s the rock, she’s holding us all together. Dad has just gone to pieces, I think he feels that he let her down, somehow failed his little girl. Hakam tries really hard not to come out of his room. He won’t talk to me but he spends a lot of time with Josh. They play on the computer and watch videos and they talk about it. Josh has been really good with him. And as for Josh, well, you’ve seen Josh, haven’t you? He said he’d been over. I think it did him good. He’d exhausted himself, refused to sleep. He comes round to Mum’s every day for dinner and then he’s been working, painting, getting ready for the exhibition, it’s his way of escaping, I suppose. So that’s how we’ve been.’ She smiled a tired smile and then leant back in her chair with a weary resignation. ‘And you?’
Growing Up Twice Page 28
