Chapter 39
Eve
I can feel it coming, all the way home.
I sit on the tram, feeling the physical space between Kirsty and I growing by the second, but rather than receding as the distance increases, the feeling builds even more.
My house seems so far from the tram stop, I half run to get there. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, one I haven’t had to deal with for a long time, but I already know I’m going to cave.
I open the front door with shaking fingers and kick off my shoes. I go into the kitchen and swing the back door open, trying to stave it off, but it’s impossible. The first tear I’ve cried in sixteen years rolls down my cheek as I lean over the sink, and as though a seal has been broken, I am suddenly sobbing.
I fold in on myself, slumping onto my barely-used sofa. My body heaves, and I panic — now that I’ve started, I worry that I won’t be able to stop.
I pull one of my decorative blankets up over my knees. My eyes are sore and puffy, but the tears keep coming. What kind of person am I ? Words rattle around my brain: selfish, calculating, driven, manipulative, user .
It’s a man’s world. The boardrooms, the jokes, the detached indifference to anything not directly connected to profit margins. There’s no space for weakness, for emotions, for stopping and considering the full picture. Just get there.
But god, this can’t be the only way. This war. Losing friendships, pitting women against each other. Who pitted us against each other? Nobody: the answer comes to me in a stomach-punching instant. We did this to ourselves.
Memories flit through my mind; Kirsty and I at parties, at my place, at hers. Years of laughter concealing... what? A ruthless drive that we’d both convinced ourselves was more important than anything else.
As soon as I think it, my brain bats it away. What’s the alternative? Softness? Kindness and consideration? Through my tears, I almost laugh. I try to picture Dev and Michael having an open and honest chat about an upcoming position they’re both interested in. The image won’t come.
I imagine work with Kirsty as my manager. The humiliation. I can’t do it.
I can’t do it. I haven’t thought this way in so long.
I lie on my back, the tears streaming down the sides of my face, and wonder when I was last still for this amount of time. I wonder if what Will said really was true — do I ever slow down enough to feel anything?
There’s a soft meow behind me, and I sit up quickly and turn around, wiping my face. Old Sausage has come through the open back door and is standing on the tiles, staring at me.
‘Hi,’ I croak.
She pads over, sniffing, her eyes trained directly on mine. She stops when she reaches the edge of the sofa and sits down, her tail swishing.
I sigh and lie back down, tipping my head back and letting it drop softly into the cushion. I think about the plan to take her to the vet, but now really isn’t the time.
As I stare up at the ceiling, there’s a soft thud next to me on the sofa. I lift my head. Old Sausage has jumped up next to me. She paws along the remaining sliver of cushion, and then curls up next to my shoulder, her head resting against my chest.
Without thinking, I reach up a hand and run my fingers through her fur. She begins purring. I am suddenly paralysed by the stillness of the moment; it feels like I’ve been running for miles and miles, and have just this second stumbled upon an oasis. Tears leak steadily from the corners of my eyes again.
I’ve never noticed how comfortable this sofa is. I turn my head and let my cheek rest against the softness of Old Sausage’s back. Her fur dampens with my tears, but the warmth of her makes my heart swell. It’s so long — so long — since I’ve felt a closeness like this, unconditional physical contact just for the sake of it.
I’m openly sobbing again now but Old Sausage stays put, the noise of her purring battling against my squalling.
‘Eve? Oh.’
I almost think I’ve imagined it, but there’s a shift in the room that tells me I’m no longer the only person in the house.
I sit up quickly, grabbing Old Sausage and clutching her to my chest. Adam is standing in the doorway, his hands hanging by his sides. I can feel the swell of emotion still sitting in my chest, next to the shame and embarrassment of him seeing me like this, and the shock of his arrival. Through swollen eyes I take in his face — it only takes a millisecond — mouth hanging open, a flush up his neck, a tiny line of pity across his forehead.
‘Get out.’ The words tumble out of my mouth before I have time to think.
‘I’m so sorry. I thought—’
‘Get out!’ I shout now, and Old Sausage mews frantically, wriggling in my arms.
Adam steps backwards, back onto the patio, his hands in the air.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, and then he turns around and leaves.
* * *
I stay on the sofa for almost two whole days. I try to keep Old Sausage with me by closing the door and providing water and tins of tuna, but eventually she leaves through the window. I stare at the TV — properly watching something for the first time in a long time, instead of having it on in the background — and think and think and think.
I sleep a little, and drop in and out of dreams. Sometimes I dream that Adam is here, sometimes I think Old Sausage is lying on my feet. Every time I wake up, I’m alone.
By the end of the second day, dehydrated and starving, I make soup and tea and sit myself on the rug next to the coffee table, my back straight. I call Jess.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, simply.
‘Are you OK?’ She’s somewhere busy. I can hear the tram screeching along the tracks in the background.
‘Are you?’
I can hear her smiling. ‘Baby steps, eh?’
‘Please tell me what’s wrong with Will. Is it Benny? Is he alright?’ I babble, sensing her softening and diving in.
She hesitates. ‘It’s not my place, Eve.’
‘I know.’ I want to push for more, want to really dig, but I force myself not to. ‘How’s Johnny?’
‘Ah.’ Her tone becomes awkward. ‘We broke up a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Shit.’ I feel wretched.
‘Do you feel bad?’ she asks. ‘I don’t want you to, but do you?’
‘Yeah, I do.’
‘Well.’ She laughs softly. ‘It’s OK. I forgive you. Use it to make changes instead of beating yourself up.’
I nod, even though she can’t see me. ‘Did you cry?’
‘For about a week.’
‘I’m sorry, Jess.’ I pause, trying to restrain as much of myself as I can, but I fail. ‘He really was a twat though.’
She cackles. ‘Ah, I do love you.’
There’s a small pause. ‘I cried,’ I say, eventually.
‘ Did you?’
‘Yeah. For ages.’ I swallow. ‘A proper cry, as well. There was snot and everything.’
I can practically feel her beaming down the phone. ‘You should have called me! We could have cried together.’
I snort. ‘No, thank you.’
‘It’s healthy!’ she tries, and then realises it’s fruitless. ‘I’m proud of you.’
‘Don’t be,’ I say. ‘Not yet.’
My words hang for a moment before she speaks again. ‘Speak to Will.’
‘I will. I’ve tried. I’ll keep trying.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Love you, Jess.’
‘Love you, too.’