Pieces of Us

Eleven Years Before

Lottie

It wasn’t meant to be a big thing. I was just having some people round, that was all, to celebrate the end of sixth form. It was a small party while Mum was away. I don’t know why it was becoming such a big deal in my head.

The boys were late, so I showed Sara up to my room. I wasn’t planning to, but she insisted she wanted to see. In all honesty, I was a bit embarrassed to show her.

I stood back as Sara opened the door and walked into the large, mainly pink space. It was a huge room, and I was achingly aware of how much bigger it was than hers. However, unlike Sara’s room, this space had no warmth and said nothing about me. I cringed as Sara padded across the fluffy pink carpet and scanned the floral wallpaper. The scatter cushions covered my bed and everything – my make-up, clothes and books – were stored neatly away in shiny white units (not by me; Mum insisted that Fay, the cleaner, came in every day to keep everything spotless).

‘My mum decorated it,’ I said quietly. ‘She insists she has a better eye for these things than me, but I wanted something far more neutral.’

‘It’s nice,’ Sara said, but the stiff smile on her face told me she thought differently. ‘It’s so bloody clean though.’

‘My mum is a bit OCD, if anything is out of place she kicks off.’ Including me, I wanted to add, but I didn’t. The words remained stale on my tongue instead.

Sara seemed quite caught up in looking at my things, admiring the amount of stuff I had decorating my shelves and units. Most of it was silly little knick-knacks, things that Dad might have bought me on his travels away or gifts from Mum when she was having a moment of guilt about something. You could tell the difference between them: Dad’s objects were interesting curios, rocks or crystals that he thought I might find ‘pretty’, while Mum focused on ornate dolls, jewellery boxes and scarves and bangles that she longed to decorate me with.

It just went to show that neither parent knew me very well at all.

‘It’s so interesting in here,’ Sara said. ‘You have such a mix of stuff.’ She walked past my bed, pulling a face at my overdressed bed and picking up an old teddy that sat amongst the cushions. ‘You still sleep with this?’

‘Fay – I mean, I – just put it there to keep it out of the way.’

Sara grinned but luckily didn’t ask any more about Fay. I didn’t want her to know I had a cleaner. For some reason I thought she might find that bad.

She was looking at my books now. My collection was far smaller than hers. In truth, I’d never been much of a reader. I didn’t really see the point of it. These were books my mum bought for me because she expected me to have the same taste in things that she did. Most of them were ancient.

‘Interesting selection here,’ she said, squinting at the titles. ‘So you like romance mainly?’

‘I guess.’

‘That’s cool. I like romances too. I can recommend some to you if you like? There’s some great recent releases.’

‘I’m not sure… I don’t really read that much any more.’

‘Hey, what’s that?’ Sara had spied a glass jar sitting on the bookcase, stuffed full of folded paper. She carefully lifted it up, peering into the jar itself. It was decorated with tiny silver stars and in gold pen the letter ‘J’ was written. I immediately stiffened. I had hoped she wouldn’t spot that.

‘Lottie? What is this?’ She asked again, shaking the jar.

I knew my cheeks were turning a deeper shade of red. I was already used to my mum teasing me for my ‘little craft projects and funny ideas’, I didn’t want Sara to think the same thing or to take the piss out of me for having such a daft object in my room. At the same time though, this was important to me. It was something I always did and if Sara was going to scorn me for it, it was probably better to get it out of the way.

‘It’s my Jar of Joy,’ I said as casually as I could. ‘I’ve been making one for myself every year now since I was little. You should try it. It’s fun.’

Sara eyed it suspiciously, like it was some kind of trap. ‘What, this jar is going to make me happy? I doubt it somehow.’ She shook it again. ‘What’s inside? Self-help messages? Words of wisdom? Answers to problems of the universe?’

‘Don’t be so quick to scoff.’ I gestured for Sara to sit down on the bed. ‘It’s just a thing I’ve done for ages. It helps me a bit. It’s nothing special.’

‘I want to know what’s written on these things though?’ Sara was still peering in the jar, almost as though she expected one of the messages to jump out and unravel themselves in front of her. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. How does it help you?’

I carefully took the jar from her. It was funny how a simple jam jar felt so valuable in my grip. I still remember the first time I washed one out and carefully wrote out my first messages. I’d only been eight but at that time in my life I needed something to help me through the bleak days. The days when Mum and Dad’s arguments were dark and destructive, the days when I realised that I was beginning to disappear from their attention. I needed reminders of the good things in my life.

‘I write myself messages every day of things that make me grateful or events that have happened that have made me happy. Then I put them in a jar.’ I paused, smiling shyly. ‘Then, every time I feel a bit sad, or maybe I’m having a bad day, I take one of these messages out and read it. It helps me remember. It reminds me to appreciate the small things. It helps keep me going.’

Sara frowned. ‘It sounds a bit simplistic to me.’

‘Well, perhaps you shouldn’t knock it ’til you try it?’ I gazed at her steadily. ‘I think you would find it helpful.’

‘I doubt that. I’d struggle to fill the bloody thing up.’ Sara grinned to show that she was joking, but I didn’t return the smile. Instead, I placed the jar back on the shelf.

‘One day you might find you need something like this,’ I told her gently. ‘And when that day comes you will be grateful for it, believe me.’

This jar, this bashed-up, crusty old jar, had got me through some really bad times and I truly believed, deep down in my heart, that it could help anyone who was struggling.

We started drinking while we waited for the boys to arrive.

‘Do you like Jay?’ I asked suddenly, needing to get to the point. ‘I mean – more than a friend? You two always seem so close, and I don’t know—’

‘We’ve known each other forever, that’s all,’ Sara said dismissively. ‘So yeah, we’re close, we’ve been through a lot of shit together.’

‘Yeah, what’s that all about? You mentioned it before but I didn’t want to pry.’

Sara chuckled to herself. ‘God, it’s so dull. Like something from a bad film.’ She waved her glass at me. ‘Basically, my mum had an affair with his dad. It got messy between our families. Everyone hates each other. Jay’s parents especially hate my brother.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he beat the crap out of Jay’s dad when he hurt my mum.’ Sara sniffed. ‘That’s why he’s inside. He nearly killed him.’

‘Oh…’ I let the words drift. That was a lot to take in.

‘So, me and Jay are screwed. Even being friends is hard. Our mums hate each other.’

‘But would you want it to be more than that?’

Sara’s cheeks glowed red. Maybe it was the drink, but she seemed suddenly awkward. She shifted on the bed beside me. ‘Oh, Lottie, I don’t know. I shouldn’t talk about this.’

‘But we’re friends, aren’t we?’ I pushed. ‘We should confide in each other.’

She shrugged. ‘I guess. But it doesn’t matter anyway. It doesn’t matter how I feel about Jay because everything is so difficult…’ She hesitated. ‘Anything more than friendship would risk everything we have. Besides…’

‘Besides what?’

She sniffed. ‘I don’t know. He’s so nice, isn’t he? I think he just puts up with my crazy ways. That I’ll always just be like a sister to him.’

‘I could ask him,’ I said with a confidence that I didn’t feel. ‘I could ask him what he really feels about you?’

Sara hesitated. I saw hope flash behind her eyes, and it actually hurt me, how much she wanted Jay. He was all she wanted – nothing else. There was nothing I could give her that she would ever desire more.

‘Lottie, I—’ The doorbell rang. Sara shot up, as if stung. Her eyes were already at the window.

‘That’s them,’ she said. ‘We have to go down. Come on.’

As I followed her downstairs, I realised she hadn’t answered my question, but it didn’t matter any more.

I knew what I was going to do.

I got Jay to myself later on that evening. We were all pretty drunk by then. Dec and Sara were flopped out on the chairs by the pool. Jay and I were in the kitchen, leaning up against the worktops. He looked sleepy and dreamy and quite cute. I could understand why Sara was attracted to him. Together they would make a pretty perfect couple.

Except perfect couples weren’t good for people like me – couples excluded, they ignored others – they would change the dynamics of a friendship group.

I swallowed down my bitterness.

‘This summer is going to be really important,’ Jay told me softly, his words slightly slurring. ‘Things will be different after.’

‘How come?’

‘University – me and Sara at the same place, away from here.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know how much you know about me and Sara?’

I tried to look indifferent. ‘A bit – I know some of the issues and that you’re close.’

‘Yeah…’ His smile widened. ‘We are and it’s great, but I’m thinking – or maybe hoping – that we could be more…’

‘Oh…’ I tried to hide my disappointment. ‘Is that what Sara wants too?’

Jay frowned. ‘I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell with Sara sometimes, she jokes and puts on a front, you know. But, I have this feeling.’ He paused, his eyes suddenly fixed on mine. ‘Has she said anything to you?’

I felt myself redden. ‘No, nothing. Just that you’re good friends.’

I could see the pain flicker in his expression before he glanced away, and I tried to fight back the doubt that gnawed at my stomach. Was I doing the right thing? But I knew in my heart Jay and Sara would be destructive together and, worse still, they would push me out. I was only being protective of my own friendship. The alcohol fuelling my body only made me feel more confident.

‘If I’m honest, I wonder if we could ever make it work,’ he said softly. ‘There are plenty of people who want to mess it up for us. But I do want more, Lottie, I do – I think of her every day. I can’t get her out of my head. But if I mention it, she thinks I’m just messing around, or she gets scared and defensive. She’s so bloody scared of being hurt.’

I dipped my head. ‘Because of what happened with your family, right?’ I asked. ‘Why do family have to make everything so difficult?’

‘Exactly!’ He slammed his hand on his thigh. ‘And I’m sick of it. I need to try to change things. Maybe university will be the opportunity? I can get some time alone with Sara. I can show her how I really feel about her. We will be away from here finally.’

I nodded. The words seemed lost in my throat. University – I had been dreading it, trying not to even think about the day Sara and Jay would go off together and I would be left behind.

‘And you, maybe you can help,’ Jay said gently. ‘You’re her friend too. You can make her see how much she means to me. I know she’s scared about university, about going away and leaving her mum – but I think it’s for the best. I really do.’

‘Yeah,’ I muttered. ‘I can try.’

My throat felt dry, and I coughed awkwardly to try and relieve it. Jay rubbed my arm affectionately and I had to fight back a shiver.

‘Thanks, Lottie. You really are the best.’

Later, Sara slipped into the seat next to me – she smelt of heat and smoke. Her hair was a tangled mess and her eyes shone. I took another slug of vodka; the room tipped slightly. Nothing was helping the curdled feeling in my stomach.

‘I saw you speaking to Jay?’ she whispered hopefully. ‘What did he say? Did you tell him anything?’

Sometimes, decisions are made in a heartbeat. My heart was broken and tired and beaten black and blue. I barely recognised my voice as I croaked out my answer.

‘He doesn’t want to hurt you,’ I said. ‘He only ever sees you as friends. There’s too much history – with your family.’

I saw the pain flare briefly, before she took a shaky breath and stiffened. ‘OK – OK, fine.’

‘He doesn’t want to upset you, Sara, that’s why…’ I hesitated; I hated seeing her like this. ‘He cares about you too much.’

‘But like a sister,’ she muttered.

I nodded stiffly. Yeah, that. Wasn’t it better she believed that? Wasn’t it better that I kept her away from a potentially toxic and troubled relationship? How could it ever work if the families hated each other so much? Weren’t we all safer as friends?

I convinced myself this was true as I took another slug of vodka, as I watched the walls of the room begin to narrow, and as I realised that my best friend was beginning to cry.

I convinced myself I was doing the right thing.