Chapter Thirty-One Clara
Chapter Thirty-One CLARA
I don’t stop running until I get to the tube station, and from there, I head for Mum’s house.
I just need to get away. That’s all I can think. My brain is panting the words run away in time with my steps. I can’t face him, I can’t. And I definitely can’t face Jemma’s judgement, or Harry’s disappointment, or even Salma’s probable shocked amusement.
I let myself into Mum’s, listening for noises in the house.
I can hear her and Angela in the kitchen, laughing about wedding flowers for their big day in a couple of weeks.
I hear Mum giggle about not knowing the difference between mauve and violet, while Angela explains how the human eye can see ten million different shades. It’s scintillating stuff.
I turn away and towards the stairs, making a dash for my old bedroom. Of course Buffy is in there – it’s her room now after all – and she’s lying on my old bed looking at her phone. She growls when I burst in.
‘Shit,’ I exclaim, realizing this is not a safe space for me. ‘Shit.’
Seeing my expression, she stops growling. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks warily. The words sound wrong coming out of her mouth and I can see she has startled even herself with the compassion.
‘No,’ I tell her, shaking my head. ‘Just had a… shock, or whatever.’ She regards me coolly, and then nods.
‘You can sit down if you want.’ I do want, and I do sit.
In my coat pocket, my phone buzzes multiple times. It’s Jemma, of course.
What the fuck, Clara? Where are you?
Is this man really your… husband? How could you not have said anything?
Come home right now and deal with this. You cannot just run off like that.
I do the right thing and turn my phone off completely.
Jemma can’t tell me what to do! When she has a husband turn up at her house one evening after months of silence, when he should be three and a half thousand miles away, THEN she can decide how to handle things.
I look down at my hands – they’re shaking.
Buffy reaches under her bed and pulls out a half-empty bottle of vodka.
She offers it up to me and I take it without comment.
See, if Jemma were here, she’d probably be shocked or tell Buffy off, but I’m cool .
I was getting drunk all the time when I was her age, why shouldn’t she?
Although I was under the impression Gen Z weren’t big drinkers.
It seems Buffy – much like her nickname – is a Millennial throwback. How nice.
I take a long swig, trying not to gag at the nasty, acrid taste. I don’t really want it, but I also don’t want Buffy judging me for being uncool. I’m SUPER cool.
‘Thanks,’ I say, and she shrugs, turning back to her phone. I sigh heavily, looking out the window. It’s starting to get dark. ‘It’s just that my—’
She looks up. ‘We don’t have to talk about it,’ she says quickly. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Right!’ I nod, thinking that she’s right.
We don’t have to talk about this stuff! Why should we have to?
Jemma’s annoyed with me for not telling her about Brandon, but we don’t have to tell each other everything!
In fact, she’s the one who’s kept me at arm’s length since I got back to the UK.
If she wanted to know I’d got married, she should’ve asked that specific question!
‘It’s just that Jemma doesn’t get it!’ I blurt and Buffy huffs dramatically.
I ignore her resistance, continuing apace.
‘I mean, what’s so bad about running away from your problems anyway?
That’s what running is for. It’s why we have legs!
’ I wave towards mine. ‘It’s what our dad did and I bet he’s super happy wherever he is, having a fun, no-strings-attached life without complications.
’ Noises start squawking from Buffy’s phone as she embarks on a loud exchange on Snapchat.
‘I bet me and Dad would have a lot in common if he’d stuck around,’ I carry on anyway.
‘When he disappeared on us, Jemma dealt with it by hiding away in her books, and I dealt with it by, y’know, having fun .
We were teenagers! And she acted like it was some kind of cardinal sin that I was getting on with my life, seeing mates, snogging boys.
But that’s what you’re meant to do as a teenager, isn’t it?
I bet it’s what you do!’ I don’t wait for her to agree or disagree.
‘It wasn’t like I was ignoring what happened, I was just getting on with things. ’
I try to think back to that weird time of my life.
It all feels so long ago and faraway. Actually, I think Jemma and I got on OK before Dad left.
Like, she’d always been really into reading and schoolwork – she was always a lot more…
I dunno, studious than me – but after Dad went, that was when we really started to grow apart.
We gradually just had less and less in common.
She was at home, looking after Mum and doing her homework, while I was out living my life .
Because what’s the point of all this if you’re not enjoying yourself?
If you’re not choosing yourself ? That’s what Dad did and I don’t blame him. Why can’t I?
And they didn’t want me there anyway.
I was always the third wheel in the family; the reject. I was the younger twin Mum never planned for – never wanted. She’d tried for a baby, and they’d got Jemma, plus one. I was the mistake, the accident, the extra burden they never would’ve asked for.
I take another sip of the vodka, instantly regretting it. Yeugh.
‘I’ve never fitted in with this family,’ I say fiercely and Buffy turns up the volume on her phone, trying to drown me out.
I continue regardless. ‘They’re all so boring.
’ I glance at her. She’s not taking any notice but I add quickly, ‘Not you, obviously.’ She doesn’t react so I keep going.
‘They can all, like, hold down jobs and homes and friends. They don’t annoy everyone around them just by existing .
They have direction and purpose. They’re not…
too much . That’s how I feel most of the time. Like I’m too much.’
My throat feels dry from the alcohol, so I take another gulp. It doesn’t help.
I rearrange myself, finding a comfy spot on the floor, and we sit there for a while – Buffy on the bed taking filtered selfies, me cradling the warm bottle of booze, mind racing.
The light outside dims and I consider asking Buffy how Mum and Angela are; how the wedding planning is going, just to get her to talk to me.
But I find I haven’t got any words left.
What is he doing here? Why is Brandon here, in the UK?
I close my eyes, picturing him now, standing there on my doorstep. What must Jemma think of me? Never mind Harry and Salma. They’re probably all sitting around our living room talking about what a freak I am. I hate that image so much, it burns in my chest.
‘Clara?’ My vision of Jemma is so vivid, I can practically hear her in the room with me. Her voice comes again, more insistent this time. ‘ Clara! ’
I open my eyes and it is actually her, standing there shouting at me in the bedroom doorway. She still has her gym clothes on and the smell of sick is wafting around her, though all of that seems like days ago.
I scramble to my feet. ‘How did you know where I was?’ I demand, feeling caught out. She snorts.
‘Where else would you be? Plus,’ she shrugs, ‘Buffy messaged me. She said you were here.’
I turn to my step-sister, shooting her furious daggers.
She glowers. ‘You wouldn’t stop talking at me.’
Jemma shakes her head. ‘Don’t pretend you weren’t looking out for her, Buff.’
I swallow. ‘She messaged… you?’ Of all the people Buffy could’ve texted, it was Jemma she automatically reached out to. My mum and step-mum are both literally downstairs, but she contacted my sister.
Jemma nods. ‘Yep, and I got in a cab straight here.’ She gives me a hard look. ‘Are you OK?’
I consider this. ‘Um, kind of. I guess so.’
There is a momentary awkward silence and when Jemma starts speaking, her voice is cold and detached.
‘I thought we were finally getting closer.’ Her words hurt.
‘I actually thought you were… growing up a bit for the first time in your life. But this… this is so awful and immature. I’m stunned .
Shocked that you could…’ She doesn’t finish her sentence and I feel my hackles rising.
‘You don’t know anything!’ My voice is raised, and she nods.
‘That’s right, I don’t! Because you never told me.
Who doesn’t tell their family that they’re married for god’s sake?
Who doesn’t tell their twin sister they’re married?
Who the hell gets married after only knowing a guy for a few months, and then abandons him and flees the country without a word after only a few days? ’
I feel my face go slack from shock and she nods again, almost gleefully.
‘Yep, that’s right, Brandon told me everything.
How you’d only been dating a short time and then ran off to elope and never told anyone.
Presumably because you were too embarrassed about rushing into something so stupidly fast.’ She pauses, her breath sounding ragged.
‘And how you left him out of the blue, without a word. You abandoned him out of nowhere and moved back here to start a new life. I’m guessing you couldn’t face up to the reality of a real, adult conversation with real feelings, so you thought you’d just dump and run.
’ She delivers the killer blow. ‘Just like Dad.’ She glares at me and I glare back before she continues.
‘You’re so immature and selfish, Clara. Treating someone like this is just…
it’s just fucking reckless! You’ve been nothing but trouble since you got back here, like an emotional wrecking ball, destroying everything in your path; relying on everyone else to bail you out all the time; never taking anything seriously! ’
I explode back at her, ‘YOU take life too seriously! You’re a total coward who’s afraid of actually living your life.
You hide away in your books – in your fictional world – watching everyone else have fun.
You’ve never travelled, never experimented, never even tried anything outside of what you know.
I might run away from things, but you’ve never let anything or anyone get close enough to ever risk needing an escape! ’
Now I’m the breathless one as we glare at one another furiously.
After a moment, Jemma looks away. ‘Brandon’s at that Malmaison hotel down the road.
He’s in room 212,’ she says at last. I feel bile rising up my throat and swallow hard.
She repeats herself quietly, this time emphasizing the shocking part.
‘Your husband is waiting to talk to you. I think you owe him a conversation, a proper conversation. But I don’t want to talk to you anymore, you’re impossible.
I’m going. I hope it works out with your husband because I’ve had enough of The Clara Show. ’
As Jemma storms out I turn to Buffy, whose eyes are huge and enthralled by all the revelations she’s just heard. She stares across at me and I can see her mentally wondering, ‘Who are you?’
Honestly? I’m asking myself the same thing.