Chapter Twenty-Two Jemma
Chapter Twenty-Two JEMMA
‘I think it’s time to ask him who he is.’ Salma is examining an old school photo of me from when I was fifteen. I’m all glasses and big fringe.
I glance up at her. ‘Oh god, really? Do I have to? Can’t I just live in this fantasy world a bit longer?’
We’re at Mum’s house, sorting through boxes of my old stuff.
Apparently Mum has kept literally everything I ever owned, made or bought since the minute I was born.
But now she needs us to clear it out, to make room for the new members of our family.
So far, it’s mostly been about throwing away old craft projects we made in Design Tech.
Oh, and quite a lot of tea towels we all drew on as kids in class that our teachers then sold to parents at an inflated price.
We’ve been here hours, but haven’t made a whole lot of progress. I’ve been too busy chewing Salma’s ear off about my book note writer, reading her each and every letter and re-examining each word, every bit of punctuation and the specific meaning of his sloping Ss.
Salma looks at me sternly. ‘No, Jem. No more fantasy world. I love you, but you’re too into your make-believe. It’s about time for some reality.’
‘Whyyyy?’ I whine, and she sighs.
‘I don’t want you to get hurt!’ she says, slumping down onto a desk chair.
This is now my mum’s office, when she works from home.
‘And the longer this goes on – the more notes you exchange with this stranger – the more likely it is that you’re going to get hurt.
’ She pauses, looking worried. ‘What if you fall for him, for real, and then he turns out to be a hideous fifty-something six-time divorcee with headless wives in his cellar? Or, y’know, something even darker like an estate agent?
You need to meet this person for real.’ She waves her hands. ‘Or at least get a name!’
‘I have the letter E!’ I protest, and she tuts.
‘Well, there you go! What if it turns out his name is Ebenezer or something? You could never love an Ebenezer, could you? You need answers!’
I sigh heavily. ‘I guess you’re right.’
We’re quiet for a minute, putting items into binbags and examining old photos. I heave another pile of clothes into the donations box. This stuff hasn’t fitted me since puberty hit. ‘Ugh, where’s Harry anyway?’ I moan. ‘Shouldn’t he be forced to help us go through all this crap as well?’
‘Hmm?’ Salma avoids my eyes and I glare at her.
‘Salma?’ I say in a warning tone. ‘Where’s Harry?’
She relents. ‘He went off somewhere with Clara. She wanted help stalking that actor guy. You wanted help with this, so I decided we’d divvy you up.’
I frown, suddenly angry. Harry’s mine , not Clara’s.
‘You’re jealous,’ Salma observes neutrally, and I stand up straighter.
‘Of course I’m not!’ I protest crossly, even though I know I am.
‘Clara’s our friend, too,’ Salma says gently.
‘I’m sorry if that bothers you.’ She makes a vaguely impatient noise.
‘To be honest, Harry and I feel a bit caught in the middle. Do you think it’s fair to us that you can’t be in the same room at the moment?
That we have to split up to spend time with you both?
’ She sighs heavily. ‘It’s annoying, but also genuinely sad.
I thought you guys seemed to be getting on better recently? ’
I shrug. ‘We were. We’re not anymore.’ My chest feels tight. ‘But that’s fine, good to know where Harry’s loyalties lie.’
Salma huffs. ‘Harry didn’t even know! He thought he was going with you and Clara. I had to trick him into going so Clara wasn’t left on her own.’
‘Harry’s a grown man, he can do what he likes,’ I say hotly. ‘I couldn’t care less.’
She eyes me warily. ‘Have you…’ Salma trails off and I look up, expectantly.
‘What?’
‘Have you considered…’ She stops again and I frown at her until she continues. ‘Have you thought about whether this note writer might be someone you know?’
‘Huh?’ This takes me by surprise and she puts down the pile of pictures she was rifling through. ‘I mean, it could be. It could be an ex or an acquaintance or… a friend.’
This hits me square in the chest. Someone I know . It couldn’t be, I’d be able to tell. Surely.
‘I don’t really have any proper exes,’ I say warily. ‘Not really.’
‘You’ve dated plenty of guys,’ Salma insists. ‘Maybe not long term, but there are definitely some broken hearts out there. A few who might be looking for another chance with the Jem-Meister.’
‘Jem-Meister?’ I enquire, adding, ‘I suppose it’s better than Jim-Jems.’
She laughs. ‘Are you still in touch with any of them? Any of your exes?’
I consider this. ‘I still wouldn’t exactly call them exes, but there are three guys I’ve shagged more than once.’ I glance at Salma for confirmation.
‘Only three? Are you still not counting that bus driver you were going out with for a while, who moved to Scotland to become a full-time Loch Ness monster hunter?’
‘Shush, you!’ I cry. ‘We agreed never to mention him again.’
She hides a smile behind her hand. ‘Fine. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be him writing the notes anyway. He had a very specific fetish for slimy, aquatic monsters with long necks.’ She pauses. ‘And you only have one of the things on that list.’
I take a second. ‘The long neck, right?’ She looks away and I swat her.
‘Anyway, I still follow all three on Instagram,’ I admit, pulling out my phone and opening the app. I type in a name and show Salma.
‘Oh god, I remember him!’ she giggles. ‘But look, he’s got a wife and three babies now – ew.
Thank you, next.’ We visit number two. ‘Nope,’ she pronounces.
‘He’s living in Australia, so unless he’s really committed to this project, the flight times back and forth to return the library book wouldn’t be realistic.
’ She looks at me expectantly and I type in the third and final name.
Someone I was with for seven months when I was twenty-three.
‘He’s hot!’ Salma says, removing the phone from my grip and flicking through shot after shot of him living his hashtag best life.
‘I have noticed he still watches my Instagram Stories…’ I say bashfully. ‘And he usually likes my posts.’
‘That is very damning,’ Salma says, nodding as she clicks on his Stories. Her face suddenly changes and she shrieks, throwing the phone at me. ‘Oh god oh god oh god, I just accidentally video-called him!’
I scream, too. ‘Oh god, why? HOW , SALMA?’
‘I was watching his Stories and went to hit the exit button, but the call button is also in the top right corner!’ she wails, looking traumatized.
From the phone, a voice pipes up, ‘Er, hello? Jemma?’
‘ You didn’t hang up? ’ I hiss at Salma and she pales, shaking her head.
I creep towards the phone, face down on the desk. Without picking up the phone, I yell in a dodgy Scottish accent, ‘WRONG NUMBER!’ and quickly hit the hang up button. Salma and I stare at each other for a long second, and then burst out laughing.
‘Were you channelling the Loch Ness monster man?’ she asks through silly tears.
‘Shit, maybe?!’ I say, giggling. ‘Oh god, hopefully it’s not him that’s been writing the book notes, because he’ll think I’m an absolute idiot now.’
‘I mean, bloody hell!’ Salma says, panting. ‘Why is there even a call function on Instagram? WHO IS CALLING EACH OTHER OVER INSTAGRAM?’
We collapse laughing again.
‘How are you girls getting on?’ Mum’s singsong question carries through from the hallway, her face appearing in the doorway.
‘Fine thanks, Mrs Poyntz,’ Salma intones politely, trying to pull herself together.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Mum offers in a child-friendly voice, like I’m having a playdate. ‘A Coca-Cola or something?’
‘No thanks, Mrs Poyntz,’ Salma answers, like a well-trained puppy.
‘OK, well, make yourself at home, won’t you!’ She disappears and Salma shakes her head.
‘That phrase is my worst pet peeve,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘If I was actually making myself at home I’d go get in your mum’s bed and dribble Mars ice cream across her pillows.’
I’m not really listening; I’m staring at the door after my mum. ‘It’s nice she’s found happiness with someone again, isn’t it? Angela seems like a good person, doesn’t she?’
‘She’s mad as a box of frogs,’ Salma comments, ‘but so is your mum. And they’re adorable together.’
‘Hmm,’ I ponder. ‘I think a lot of finding the right person is locating the right person or frog to share your mad frog box with.’ I turn to Salma decisively.
‘OK, you’re right.’ She regards me quizzically.
‘I need a name, I need to face reality. I’m going to write E a note telling him my name and asking him who he is.
I want to know the truth.’ I sigh deeply. ‘Even if the truth ruins everything.’