by Shari Low
Ginny realised what she’d said just a fraction too late as Roxy tensed and looked upwards, as if some cosmic power could allow her to see into the room above her.
Ginny reached over and held her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, hon, that was a really tactless thing to say.’
‘S’okay–I gave your boyfriend a blow job.’
The insuppressible burst of laughter almost woke up Mitch, and it took a few seconds for sobriety to regain control.
Both women stared at their clasped hands in the middle of the table, acutely aware that the scene was replicated upstairs.
‘Do you think I should go back up now?’ Roxy asked.
Ginny reflexively checked her watch. ‘Why not give my mum another ten minutes while you finish your tea. She and your mum always did have a lot to talk about.’
‘Do you think they ever get sick of each other?’ Roxy asked.
‘I don’t know. If they do they hide it well.’
‘Unlike us.’
‘Unlike us.’
‘So. How’s my life been? Did you hate it or have you started telling people you’re me and stealing my Prada bags?’
Momentary surprise caused Ginny to stutter.
‘Oh, you know, it’s…erm…fine.’
‘Fine? Ginny, my life has never been fine, my life is fabulous. Okay, what’s happened? Don’t tell me you went out with the girls from work? Oh, you did! I can see it in your face! Don’t tell me that you got pissed and then you snogged some random bloke and haven’t been able to sleep since.’
Ginny flushed. Was that what Roxy really thought of her? Did she think Ginny was so boring, so unadventurous that something as trifling as a snog would upset the equilibrium of her life?
‘Look, just forget it. This isn’t the time or the place.’
‘Oh my God, you slept with someone! You did! Apart from Felix, that is!’
‘I did NOT sleep with Felix!’
‘Yeah, yeah, I got that, but I can’t promise not to throw it in every now and then just to rile you.’
Roxy suddenly sat back and appraised Ginny from head to toe.
“Oh. My. God. I’ve just realised how different you are. You’ve had your hair done. You’re not wearing man-made fibres. And don’t think I didn’t notice that about two minutes ago you said “penetration” without turning purple in mortification. It’s like you’re a whole new you. But you’re still a crap liar so out with it–who was it?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Who was it?’
‘NOBODY.’
‘Ginny, imagine I’m on my deathbed and you’re baring your soul and you have to tell me everything. And don’t refuse because it’s my mum who’s lying upstairs and you can’t upset me at a time like this.’
Ginny couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Don’t you dare try to use emotional blackmail on me at a time like this!’
Roxy shrugged. ‘Look, I might have forgiven your indiscretion with Felix but that doesn’t mean I’m perfect.’
Ginny was incredulous. Crazy, incorrigible, shallow, inappropriate Roxy–oh, how she loved her.
‘Okay, it was Jude. I slept with Jude.’
Roxy’s head fell into her hands. ‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I should have warned you. I know he’s so lovely and so perfect and so utterly fucking shaggable, but he’s…he’s Jude. Are you crushed?’
Indignation was setting in again. ‘Why would I be crushed?’
‘Because,’ Roxy began, bewildered by Ginny’s reaction, ‘wasn’t it a one-night stand in between his dates with the rest of his harem? He’s so not for you, Ginny. He’ll break your heart.’
‘What makes you think I’d let him? Roxy, I’m a grown-up. Here’s a newsflash–I can handle my life, I can handle men, and I can handle Jude–in fact, I did so many times!’ Ginny was spitting the words out now.
‘Oh yeah? And what about Cheska and Goldie?’
‘Oh, trust me, Roxy, I can definitely, definitely handle Goldie.’
It was all Ginny could do not to purse her lips and click her fingers after that last statement. Note to self, she thought–must stop watching the Tyra Banks show.
Roxy picked up the innuendo immediately and her chin almost hit the table. ‘You slept with Goldie? Behind Jude’s back?’ she gasped.
Ginny was biting her tongue now, horribly aware that she’d said far too much. After a lifetime of bickering you’d have thought she would have developed better coping strategies and stored them in her brain under ‘To Be Used When Roxy’s Fingers Are On My Buttons’.
‘You gave my boyfriend a blow job!’
‘Piss off, you’re not using that to get out of this! I can’t believe you went behind his back.’
Ginny wasn’t sure what to say. Was this one of those times where honesty was more important, or where secrecy prevailed? Honesty? Secrecy? Honesty? Secrecy? Honesty…
‘Only about six inches. Actually, sometimes there was no distance at all.’ Her eyes squeezed shut with mortification as she confessed all.
Cue uncomprehending pause number 453 of the conversation so far, followed by astounding realisation number 676.
‘You had a threesome! Holy fuck, I hope they’ve got one of those heart-machine shocky thingies on this floor!’
‘A defibrillator.’
‘Don’t you dare go all MENSA on me at a time like this!’
Thankfully, Roxy’s attention was diverted by Sam and Destiny, who at that very moment burst into the room, Sam clutching a huge bouquet of flowers and Destiny looking slightly out of place in full make-up, a tight, belted mac and six-inch silver glittery platforms. She might have got away with it if it weren’t for the three-foot tail dangling under the back of the coat.
Sam embraced Roxy, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. ‘I hope it’s okay that we came. Jude called to say Ginny wouldn’t be in today and told us what happened.’
Roxy, reaching yet another twist on her emotional roller coaster, burst into tears.
‘It’s–[sob]–so–[sob]–good–[sob]–to see you!’
Ginny headed off to the urn for reinforcements while Roxy gave the newcomers the medical update. Ginny threw some biscuits on the tray too–well, she was Violet’s daughter.
They were down to the last HobNob when Roxy, having re-calmed herself, had a moment of realisation.
‘Sam, who’s running the Seismic if you are both here?’
‘Actually, I don’t work at the Seismic any more. I was just there clearing out my desk when Jude called this morning.’
Ginny nearly had a fatal tea-choking incident. ‘You got fired! Hold on, you can’t get fired, you own the place. Oh, no, Sam–the bailiffs? I thought the club was doing really well.’
‘It is, but I don’t–own it, I mean. My mother owns the Seismic. But the day before it opened she buggered off with some count to Monte Carlo, and all our money was in the club so I had no choice but to take over and run it until she came back. You met her, Ginny–the other night, remember? Tall, black hair, the whole hugging-in-reception thing?’
‘That was your mother? She’s gorgeous!’
Sam made a rueful grimace. ‘And unreliable, and irresponsible, and flighty, and self-centred…but hey, sometimes she’s adorable too. So anyway, it’s all over with the count and she’s back to reclaim the club.’
‘Are you devastated?’ Ginny asked, oozing concern.
‘Devastated? I’m thrilled. I hated every day of working there–no offence, Destiny, but it wasn’t for me. I’m thinking I might set up in business on my own–something that doesn’t come with a vibrating cupboard. But it depends on…stuff.’
Was it Ginny’s imagination or was Sam staring a bit too intensely at Roxy when he said that? Was Sam…? Did Sam…? Was that the reason for all the questions? All the little chats that, now she came to think about it, were all in some way related to…Roxy. No! The poor guy was going to be so crushed when he found out about Mitch.
Mitch. Ginny glanced over at him, st
ill sleeping soundly, his neck at an angle that was going to cause days of discomfort. Why? Why had it taken her this long to realise how she felt about him? Why had she let her relationship with Darren numb her to everything that was going on around her and inside her? And why, why did he have to be going out with the one person that she knew she could never, ever intentionally hurt?
Even if that person had given her ex-boyfriend a blow job.
‘Roxy, sweetheart…’ Violet had joined them and everyone spun to greet her, her arrival a stomach-churning reminder–not that they needed one–of why they were there.
Violet’s shining eyes and ecstatic smile answered their questions immediately.
‘She’s woken up and the doctor has just been in again and he thinks she’ll be okay!’ The tears were flowing again. ‘And she’s talking, Roxy–she’s asking for you.’
Roxy leapt out of her seat, but Violet stopped her. ‘Hold on, love, you can help me take up some tea. She’s asking for it, and the doctor says it’s fine to let her have some. The nurse offered but your mother does love my tea.’ And off she bustled in the direction of the counter.
Sam caught Destiny’s eye and they both stood up. ‘We’d better go–we just wanted to drop these off and make sure you’re okay. And your mum too,’ he blustered. ‘Make sure your mum was–you know…And she is. And…and that’s great.’
Ginny’s heart went out to the poor, stuttering bloke. For the first time in living memory, Roxy was puffy-eyed, red-nosed, and so dishevelled she bore a faint resemblance to the bag lady outside Superdrug, yet Sam still couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Eventually, Destiny gently nudged him out of the way so that she could give Roxy a huge kiss and a long hug.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about coming back?’
Roxy shook her head. ‘Nope–I reached the “Y”s in the career book…’
‘You read a book?’ Ginny joked.
‘Cover to cover. And I had an epiphany.’
‘Is that something I should be offering as a service?’ Destiny giggled.
‘A youth worker. I’m going to be a youth worker. It’s a long story, but I’ve found my calling,’ she announced proudly.
‘Well, that’s the future of the country screwed then,’ Destiny replied tartly. She turned her attention and hugs on Ginny. ‘And what about you, my darling–will you be back?’
Ginny shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, D, I don’t think so. I only had another week to go anyway–but I think I’ll head back home to help Mum and Vera.’
Destiny answered by kissing her full on the lips then clutching her heart as she wailed dramatically, ‘But baby, how can you leave me–I was the best shag you ever had!’
Unfortunately for Roxy, this was said just as she was pushing herself to her feet. She immediately slumped back down in her chair.
‘I hope there’s a space in that bed next to mum.’
Brick Farm, Co. Galway, Ireland
Dear Mitchell,
Here is the jumper and socks I promised, to match the scarf and gloves. I’m fair welling up at the thought of you looking so handsome–red has always been your colour. The knitting machine is kaput at the moment. The manufacturer is claiming someone damaged the workings. Can you imagine the cheek? As if anyone would want to sabotage a perfectly good knitting machine.
My cholesterol is only two points above normal now, but I’m still suffering terribly with the other thing. Only God knows why the fibre isn’t working.
Finally, son, if you don’t tell that lass how you feel then I’ll be over myself. Aer Lingus has some great offers on the telly at the moment, and since the knitting machine is down I’m at a loose end.
Much love to you,
Mam
TWENTY
Unbreak My Heart
Ginny. Day 22, Sunday, 8 p.m.
She could sense that there were lights up above and she vaguely registered voices in the background. She tried to open her eyes but they wouldn’t move. Her whole body felt like a dead weight–every bone hurt, every muscle cramped.
The voices–no, just one voice–was getting louder now, more insistent.
‘Ginny, wake up. Wake up. It’s time to go.’
Ginny struggled to open her eyes, her confusion and disorientation battling for supremacy.
Where was she? Jude? Was that Jude?
‘Ginny, wake up,’ the voice continued. The soft Irish voice.
‘Mitch, what…?’ She managed to get one eye open, then squeezed it tight shut again as the light attacked her pupils.
‘Aunt Vera? Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine–she’s sleeping again. And the doctors have capitulated and let Roxy and your mum stay overnight with her. Roxy said she’d accuse the grey-haired one of touching her up if he didn’t.’
‘Ya gotta love her,’ Ginny quipped, her brain slowly recovering its powers of cohesion.
‘Yep, you do,’ he agreed. Ouch, talk about rubbing salt in the wound. She felt her bottom lip start to tremble and bit down hard on it. She had to pull herself together. This wasn’t the end of the world. Nobody had died. Some things were just meant to be. What was for her wouldn’t go by her. She had to give peace a chance.
And now she’d run out of stupid bloody sayings that people came out with in a crisis despite the fact that they never bloody made anyone feel sodding better.
Meanwhile, Mitch was still in front of her and he was looking all rumpled and gorgeous, and he was still Roxy’s!
‘How long have I been sleeping?’ she asked, her voice belying none of her inner turmoil.
‘About six hours. I woke up and you were already lying here, zonked out. I’ve booked a room in the hotel next door so I can get showered and get some proper sleep and then come back in the morning. There’s nothing more we can do here and I don’t fancy driving back to Farnham Hills tonight. The journey here was scary enough–Roxy insisted on driving and I think we broke a couple of land-speed records.’
‘I’ve seen her driving. I can only put your survival down to your uncle having a direct line to God.’
She loved the way his eyes creased up when he smiled.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he told her, his voice warm with affection.
‘And you. Seems a lot has happened in the last few weeks in the village where nothing ever happens. I hear Roxy moved in with Juliet…’
Mitch shook his head. ‘She did, but she’s moving back out again.’
‘But why?’ Ginny couldn’t hide her cynicism–this was vintage Roxy, changing her mind every five minutes, barging in, disrupting people’s lives then leaving on a whim. But hold on–her brain was catching up with the latest developments–hadn’t the Roxy who was here this afternoon been the new, improved version, the one who wanted to be a youth worker and was capable of doing radical things like listening to reason and apologising?
But then…she was still Roxy. A sudden thought entered Ginny’s head and expanded rapidly. She was still inherently Roxy. Roxy who loved her glamour, loved her bling, and could live without food and water but wouldn’t survive without her Gucci. Mitch, however, was the exact opposite. Roxy was a city girl; Mitch loved the country. They had nothing in common at all. Not a single thing. Except…that was it! Perhaps Roxy and Mitch were just two single people passing the time by having a fling, and if the last few weeks had taught her nothing it was that a fling absolutely did not have to constitute a lifelong commitment. So all she had to do was wait it out–stay patient until their relationship fizzled out and then she could tell him how she felt.
But not when he had a frown on his face like the one he had right now.
‘Bugger, I thought she’d have told you,’ he said with distinct discomfort.
‘Told me what?
‘About the pregnancy…’
‘ROXY’S PREGNANT?’ Ginny shrieked.
‘I am,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘And Mitch intends to bring the baby up as his own. You will be the
godmother, Ginny, won’t you?’
TWENTY ONE
Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours
Everyone. Six months later.
It was the perfect day for a wedding–a crisp April morning, ripe with the aroma of the blooming daffodils and carpets of sweet peas that bordered the garden of Mrs Robinson-Smith’s grand home. It was so kind of her to let them use her house while she was on her annual Buddhist retreat.
Out by the rose-decked gazebo, guests were already starting to mill around, chatting politely to strangers and wondering if they should mention that someone’s child had grabbed the bandleader’s cello and was making a dash for the pond.
In the back room, surrounded by a mille-feuille of white tulle, empty hatboxes and plates of sandwiches that were curling up at the edges, Roxy stared at her reflection in the ornate, gilt-edged mirror. She swivelled her body round to check her profile.
‘How do I look?’
‘Fat,’ replied Ginny.
‘Remind me again why we’re friends?’ Roxy asked, and not for the first time. ‘I can’t believe that on today of all days you can’t say anything nice to me.’
‘Okay, I’ll say something nice…’ Ginny adopted a pensive expression.
‘Sometime soon!’ Roxy yelled.
‘Okay, okay, I’m thinking!’ Through the window Ginny spotted a familiar face. And large bump. ‘Got one–you’re not as fat as Saffron!’
They both watched as Saffron tried to manoeuvre her nine-month-pregnant frame into a swinging garden seat. ‘If she falls off that the tremors will be felt for miles,’ Roxy observed.
‘Don’t worry, Juliet’s keeping an eye on her.’
There had been so many times over the last few months when the two women had marvelled at Juliet’s maturity, intelligence and sense of responsibility.
When Mitch had confronted Juliet and Roxy, it was Juliet who had realised straight away who the pregnancy test belonged to.
