Chapter Thirty-Eight Jemma
Chapter Thirty-Eight JEMMA
Harry is the first to spot Clara. She’s sitting in a booth in the darkest corner of the room. She’s hunched over and in on herself, like she’s hoping we won’t spot her. But she waves when she sees us, almost like she’s excited.
‘Jemma! Harry!’ she calls happily, but her face falls as we approach.
‘I can’t believe you’re here, this is mad!
’ She pauses, then gushes emotionally, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m really sorry.
Please don’t shout at me.’ She looks between us.
‘Well, obviously you can shout at me if you want to – I know I deserve it – but please don’t.
I’ve done so much crying these last few days, I am incredibly dehydrated. ’
Harry laughs, pulling her in for a hug. She freezes for a second, looking thunder-struck, before relaxing into it.
They hold onto one another and I can see Clara is close to crying – again.
Harry pulls away at last. ‘You silly goose,’ he says with affection.
‘Why did you run away? We were all really worried.’
Clara gapes at him and then looks to me.
I frown, then try not to. Everything in me wants to hug her – to check her over for lumps and bumps and emotional bruises – I’ve honestly been so worried. But I’m also not quite so ready to forgive and forget. I have stuff to say. Stuff to ask.
I feel for the envelope in my pocket. And stuff to tell .
I was forced to read the letter on the plane. Forced by two strange women, sitting either side of me. And now I just don’t know what to think. I have answers, but I also have more questions.
But right now, my only questions are for Clara.
Harry looks between us and clears his throat. ‘Listen, I’m going to leave you guys to chat for a while.’ He glances at me. ‘I’ll go get us checked into the hotel, OK, Jem? Come find me whenever you’re ready.’
I nod, unable to say thank you out loud. He’s been so good. So kind. And only a tiny bit drunk and useless on our journey here.
Clara leads us back into the booth and I see her swallow hard. We sit in silence for a minute.
I take a deep breath. I guess I’m speaking first.
‘Amanda told us the truth about Brandon,’ I say quietly, and Clara’s head shoots up.
Her mouth opens and closes as her eyes fill with tears.
I resist the urge to reach for her while I continue, ‘I don’t understand what happened, Clara.
I thought we were starting to be in a good place – weren’t we?
Couldn’t you have trusted me to listen to what you had to say?
Couldn’t you have told me he was a controlling arse? Instead of running off again?’
She looks up, a pained expression on her face.
‘It’s not about trust, Jem.’ She frowns.
‘At least I don’t think it is. It’s just…
I don’t know, an instinct? I had to get away.
I couldn’t face your disappointment. I know you don’t like much about who I am.
You think I’m selfish and immature, and I couldn’t face you being right about me – again. ’
A wave of emotion washes through me and I take a moment, letting them settle down.
After a minute, I put a hand on top of hers.
‘I’m so sorry I’ve always made you feel that way, you don’t deserve it.
You’re a good person, Clara, and I… I do love you.
’ Her fingers find mine and we sit there, holding hands for the first time since we were kids.
‘I guess a lot of it stems from when we were young. Everything seemed so easy for you. I was jealous, I suppose. I probably still am.’
She shakes her head. ‘Everything seemed so easy for you ! You had it all together, everything sorted. You weren’t wasting your life chasing silly boys around and making friends with people whose names you couldn’t remember a year later.
’ She gestures at me. ‘Look at you! Jemma, you’re so sorted.
You have the loveliest friends in the universe, you have a cool job that means you get to spend your days in your favourite place, you have enough money to hop on a plane to New York with a few hours’ notice!
’ She grimaces. ‘Meanwhile I’m up to my arse in debt with no idea where I’m even going to stay tomorrow night. ’
‘You’re not staying at Brandon’s?’ I ask with a frown.
She looks away. ‘We’re, um, taking it slow.’
I take a moment, then say, ‘You can’t get back with him, Clara.’
She swallows hard. ‘It’s complicated. Amanda doesn’t know the full story. It’s… there are… I’m married , Jem. And I can’t keep flip-flopping, running back and forth between the UK and America.’ She laughs shortly. ‘I can’t afford it, for one thing.’
‘I’m sure Mum could lend you some more money,’ I offer.
She nods, embarrassed. ‘Probably. Even though she must hate me.’
I grin. ‘I think I know how you could persuade her to forgive you.’
Clara gives me a toothy smile back. ‘Come to her wedding?’ She looks down. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t even want me there anymore, not after I ditched and ran like that.’
I give her an impatient sigh. ‘Of course she wants you there!’ I pause and then ask carefully, ‘Why do you think you do run away from things? Do you think it’s—’ I don’t finish because Clara is looking away. She knows what I’m going to say.
‘Dad?’ she offers quietly and I nod. ‘I guess so, maybe.’ She meets my eyes. ‘But how come I got the stupid, cowardly escape genes and you got the reliable, see-things-through ones?’
I shrug and half-laugh. ‘I think everyone is different – even twins. It’s like how some children of alcoholics become alcoholics themselves, and others are disgusted by alcohol and never drink a day in their lives.
’ I swallow, adding, ‘You know you started disappearing – running away – back when we were teenagers, just after Dad did.’
Clara regards me, smiling. ‘Well, you started disapproving just after Dad left.’
‘Fair enough,’ I laugh, then pause. ‘I actually had a feeling you’d left America because of a man. But I suspected it was Dad. I thought you’d tracked him down somehow, and he’d let you down again.’
Clara brightens. ‘Ooh, maybe we should track him down!’
I look at her hard. ‘Why?’
She shrugs. ‘I dunno! It might be cool to get to know him. Don’t you think? It’s been nearly fifteen years. Maybe he regrets how he left things…’
I hesitate, uncertain how to confront this.
We’ve just made up, I don’t want to upset her again.
I don’t want to send Clara running for the hills.
God knows how far she’d flee this time. But I can’t understand how she can still see Dad as some goofball who, like, forgot to come home one night.
‘Um, you do understand that our dad’s an arsehole, don’t you, Clara?
You get that he abandoned his wife and two children and literally never got in touch? ’
Her body language is immediately resistant.
She crosses her arms and shakes her head.
‘Yeah, but…’ She struggles for the words, looking away.
‘I can understand that impulse to run. Like I said, I have his coward genes. I can see how things might’ve got too scary.
We must’ve been a lot to deal with – I’m a lot to deal with.
’ She swallows hard. ‘Maybe that’s why I’ve always defended him: I’m like him. ’
I put a hand gently on her arm, and it’s enough to stop her speaking.
‘No,’ I say carefully. ‘Really no, Clara. I know you guys were close, but he left . Can you imagine doing that to Mum and two young kids who need you?’ I swallow.
‘I know that you have this instinct to escape things, but that doesn’t make you anything like him.
’ Clara frowns, then looks down at the table between us.
I carry on. ‘I’m so sorry I said that in our fight.
You’re not like him, Clara, I was wrong or hurt or just – I don’t know – lashing out.
You’re nothing like him. I know you think you are, but you’re not .
’ I sigh, leaning back. ‘I’ve never told you this, but I did get in touch with him a few years ago. ’
She gasps at this. ‘You did? What did he say?’
I nod slowly, feeling pulses of guilt for never telling her. But she was in America and we weren’t close. And the truth is, I knew it would hurt her, and – despite the physical and emotional distance – I didn’t want that.
‘Yep, it was surprisingly easy. He was just there, on Facebook. I sent him a message explaining who I was and asking if he would be interested in talking after all these years.’ Clara’s eyes are huge and expectant, and I feel awful as I continue.
‘He replied after a couple of weeks to say he had a new partner – a new life – and wasn’t interested in revisiting long-forgotten history. He didn’t even say sorry.’
Clara’s bottom lip trembles, but her arm cross gets tighter. ‘But maybe…’ she tries weakly and I shake my head.
‘No,’ I say softly, and after a few seconds she nods back.
‘OK,’ she acknowledges and then releases her arms. Her shoulders slump with something like exhaustion. ‘OK, he really is a piece of shit then.’ She looks up at me anxiously. ‘But you honestly don’t think I’m like him? Or at least, you think that I can be better than him?’
I grab her hand and hold it tightly. ‘You are a million miles better than him! You love people a lot and care about them. Can you imagine ever sending a message like that to your own child? Or even to a stranger?’
She shakes her head vehemently. ‘God no!’ She takes a deep breath, letting it out in a low whistle. ‘I think I convinced myself Dad wasn’t so bad because I really thought I was like him. But I think I can be more like you and Mum if I try.’
I laugh shortly. ‘I’ve just decided to try being more like you ! You’re fun and chilled out. I want to try to be less… I don’t know, rigid about stuff. Less judgemental. I’m going to go with the flow.’
Clara machine-gun-laughs at this. ‘You’re going to go with the flow? You!’
‘Fuck off,’ I say mildly. ‘I can go with the flow!’ I sit up straighter.
‘And I’m going to live my life a bit bigger, I think.
’ Clara’s eyes widen. ‘I actually loved that plane ride! Nosy seat mates aside, it was awesome. I want to do more of it. I can travel and try things and have adventures – outside of my books.’ I frown.
‘Though I’m definitely not sacrificing them.
They can come with me. Or maybe I’ll finally give in and get a Kindle. ’
Clara’s face is alight with happiness. ‘And I’m going to stop running away. I’m going to face reality, find a real life with real friends and a real job. I will do the washing up and I won’t impulse buy stupid gigantic items of bedroom furniture or paint antiques without permission.’
I beam at her. ‘For the record, I actually really love my hot pink mirror. I just didn’t want to admit it.’
‘You do?!’ She looks thrilled. ‘Maybe there is some mileage in upcycling then…’
‘Oh god,’ I laugh, then I stop. Squeezing her hand, I ask the big question. ‘What are you going to do about Brandon?’
Clara looks away. ‘I don’t know yet.’ She inhales deeply. ‘And I want to tell you everything – the whole story – but I just need a minute. Can we just… can I just…’
Her eyes are wild and fearful, so I cut her off.
‘There’s no rush. Let’s go find Harry and start exploring.
We’re in New York for god’s sake! And we’re only here until tomorrow night, so you have to show us around.
Harry says we have to get trashed and dry hump the Statue of Liberty.
’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know what these fancy private schools are teaching our young men these days. ’