Chapter Thirty
I wake up to Sam’s left big toe inches from my face. We have passed out on my bed, talking late into the night. After almost a week of not speaking, there was so much inane guff to catch up on.
She grunts awake, looking over at me blearily. ‘Morning,’ I say, and she looks at her watch.
‘Shit, I’m supposed to be at work in twenty minutes.’ She rolls over. ‘Sod it, I’m calling in sick. I haven’t skived in – ooh – must be at least a month. I’m long overdue.’
‘Want me to call for you and pretend to be your mum?’ I offer, and she shakes her head.
‘No thanks, but if you could write a note to get me out of PE tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.’
‘No problem,’ I say.
‘Can we hang out all day together doing nothing?’ Sam smiles shyly. ‘I’ve felt a bit… untethered without you.’
I feel the same way. We still have so much catching up to do. I want to hold her tightly and not let go.
I check my own watch. ‘I would love that, but I have to go into my office to fetch some files and books. I have a meeting lined up with that domestic violence charity in a few days and I need some paperwork – my qualification certificates and that. I was also meant to be seeing Jools for a coffee at some point.’
‘Oh, I love Jools!’ Sam says joyfully. Her face lights up. ‘She’s such a style queen with those glasses – such an original.’
I won’t tell her about Elton John.
She grins. ‘Could we combine?’ she suggests. ‘Get Jools to meet us at the therapy collective office and we’ll help you sort out your paperwork while we chat and drink coffee?’
‘God, you’re so needy.’ I roll my eyes, and she tells me to fuck off.
Things are back to how they should be between us. But hopefully even better, from now on.
We get ourselves dressed and head over to my office, where we ignore the many overpriced bits of furniture I own and squat directly on the floor.
It’s a lot easier when you’re sorting through several years’ worth of ignored boxes, rammed with invoices and client notes.
Jools arrives a few minutes later, bearing steaming cups of coffee that we drink greedily as we work our way through the paperwork.
We’re trying to locate my certificates and any old recommendation letters, but we’re not having much luck.
Sam has been less than helpful, instead focusing her efforts on filling Jools in on my phone call with Justin.
‘God,’ Jools breathes out heavily, ‘I can’t imagine having proper closure like that with an ex.’
‘It does feel pretty good,’ I admit. ‘It turns out, being honest is a solid way to go. Who would’ve guessed.’
‘And maybe Justin sort of turned out to be a halfway decent guy in the end?’ Jools offers, removing her Elton John glasses and waving them about.
I shrug. ‘I don’t think he’s an awful person or anything, but I’ve realised that he didn’t really like me that much as a human.’
Sam pauses, hovering over a document. ‘I agree, actually. I’m sorry to say it.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ I grin at her. ‘It seems obvious now. I’m just struggling to understand why I couldn’t see it at the time.
He always acted like spending time with me was a chore, he never laughed at my jokes, he got annoyed when I sang to myself around the house, he thought my job was kind of stupid and boring… ’
‘Don’t forget how he refused to be in any photos with you ever!’ Sam adds helpfully.
‘We got that one photo once!’ I protest weakly. ‘At Christmas.’
‘You mean that one where he deliberately ruined it by scowling in every shot?’ Sam asks, and I nod. Jools grimaces.
‘God, yeah.’ I make a face. ‘He just didn’t like me, did he? But why did I put up with it? Why didn’t I notice?’
Jools raises an eyebrow. ‘I think it’s because we’re taught from a really young age that boys who are nice to girls are soft.
They are taught to have disdain for us and for anything considered girly.
You can’t have any girl hobbies, you can’t like girl things.
Pink is pathetic, romance is pathetic, crying is pathetic.
Man up, where are your balls, don’t be a girl.
They’re cruel to us, they mock our interests, they treat us with utter disdain, and we think that’s normal!
’ She shakes her head. ‘How would you know he didn’t like you when we’re so used to men being like that about women? ’
‘Oh, and plus!’ Sam looks inspired. ‘It doesn’t help the way we tell little girls that boys being horrible and pulling our pigtails actually means they like us.
We internalise that messaging too. We even make a big thing of how “nice” men are boring and give us the ick.
Because we’ve been taught at a molecular level that boys being arseholes to us is a sexy thing. ’
‘Sometimes it is hot,’ I mutter, thinking of every single one of my favourite smut books.
‘Aaaand,’ Jools’ face gets thunderous. ‘We’ve got men around us who pretend to be allies, and then vote for men who would rather let us bleed out in a car park than have any ownership over our own bodies.’
‘That is depressing,’ I point out after a moment of silence. ‘This whole conversation is depressing.’
‘Either way, Liv,’ Sam says, brightening, ‘you deserve someone who thinks you’re brilliant. Not a person who merely tolerates your existence because you improve theirs.’
‘And on that note.’ Jools stands up from the floor. ‘I desperately need some more coffee. Do you have options somewhere in this building? Even instant would do.’
I nod back out towards the corridor. ‘There’s a machine in the staff lounge at the end of the hall. She heads out and I consider her words. Why would I choose to date someone – for over a year! – who didn’t like me?
I turn to Sam, who is doodling in one of my notepads.
‘Do you think it’s because my parents always seemed to dislike me?
They barely tolerated my existence so then I thought that was normal?
’ I sigh as she reaches for my arm, nicely.
‘I should probably stop blaming my parents for everything wrong in my life.’
‘They can take it!’ she says. ‘And, if it’s any consolation, I’m betting they didn’t really like themselves either.’ She turns to look me in the eye. ‘Plus, they didn’t even know you, so they don’t get to like or dislike you. I know you inside out and I think you are excellent. I like you a lot.’
I well up a bit. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ I tell her sincerely, then sigh. ‘There was a point back there when I really thought Edward liked me for me, too.’
‘I think he did,’ she says. ‘Honestly! Look, I’m not saying kissing him was a sensible choice, and I’m definitely not encouraging any repeat behaviour’—she raises an eyebrow—‘because that would be me falling back into bad habits and giving you bad, drama-seeking advice.’ We both smile, trying not to laugh.
‘But for the record, I think the chemistry between you was insane, and if not for the therapist thing, I’d have been rooting for you two. ’
Jools re-joins us from the hallway.
‘What are we talking about now?’ she asks, and I cringe.
‘Edward,’ Sam says simply.
‘Edward?’ Jools blinks and Sam fills in the blank.
‘Edward the therapist.’
‘Ahaaa.’ She nods. ‘Of course.’ She doesn’t ask for more detail and I internally wince because I haven’t actually told her about Edward.
How awful that she obviously knows all the details.
She knows I was sent for therapy with Edward, by Spencer.
I imagine the whole production team probably knows.
I’m sure they’ve been gossiping about it non-stop since I was suspended.
I can’t even blame them – I’d be doing the same – but the thought fills me with dread.
With my therapy time now up, it’s crunch time at the studio.
I haven’t heard from Spencer, but surely there’s still hope for my job, isn’t there?
There must be. They would’ve told me by now if I was actually sacked.
And didn’t Spencer say, if I completed the therapy course with Edward, then I could come back?
I’ve done it. I’ve done what they asked for, they owe me a shot at returning to my slot on the sofa.
I mean, technically, I only did five and a half sessions. But that wasn’t my fault, was it? Edward’s mum got ill, so we had to stop that one.
‘Your coffee machine is out of pods’—Jools shakes her head—‘so I’m off to find a Costa to buy us all a nice latte.’ She winks. ‘You get back to Edward the therapist chat.’
‘Hold on,’ I say, scrambling to stand up. ‘We’ll come with you. We need a break, and there’s a lovely coffee shop just a few minutes away.’ I glance at Sam who also jumps up eagerly. ‘They have the best hot chocolate ever. If your body can cope with an inhuman amount of whipped cream.’
Sam nods, then grimaces. ‘Let’s just hope it’s not being frequented by any exes today.’
We both laugh at this, filling Jools in on my Orla and Justin encounter as we make our way down to the café.
We join the long queue, chatting easily as we wait our turn.
I consider how different I feel from the last time I was here.
Standing in a queue just like this one, next to my ex and his beautiful new girlfriend.
It feels like that happened to a different person.
We step forward at last to place our order and a large human-shaped frame fills my vision. It’s a tall man with a large, expensive looking coat, and he’s just shoved his stupid self in front of us, blocking our way. He’s queue hopping! Who does that in this day and age?
‘What the hell?’ Sam mutters, as Jools and I exchange furious glances.
I open my mouth and then close it again.
I’m angry. Of course I am. And it’s okay that I’m angry. It’s understandable. This man just did something rude and hostile, and he should be called out.