Chapter 16
The following week coasted by as usual.
Mum started sending me pictures of tarot cards, asking me to pick random ones; no matter how often I told her that’s not how readings worked, she insisted.
Whenever I picked, she foresaw something dark and dangerous around the corner.
Along with the often nonsensical texts from Mum, I’d get images of cartoon characters along with a question mark.
For someone I would give several organs to if she needed, Fallon was pressing on my last nerve.
I told her as much over the phone one evening, and she’d called me out, stating my grumpiness stemmed from a lack of dick.
If only it were that simple.
I knew why I was so short-tempered recently, and it wasn’t my lack of sex. I almost wished it was. That made sense to me. Sex made sense to me.
What was utterly nonsensical was that I couldn’t stop staring at my phone all week. Jumping when I got a message and feeling that pop of disappointment in my chest when I didn’t see his name. That made zero sense.
It’s like I was eight years old again and getting a crush on the cute kid next door.
The boy with brown floppy hair who would walk to school with his dad, hand in hand.
They’d stroll down the street to the bus stop where he’d get on whilst his dad stood on the curb, waving until the bus disappeared around the corner.
I remember it used to feel like a hedgehog was burrowing deep inside my chest as I watched them.
Scratching my insides. Mum saw me staring after them once and nudged my shoulder with a wry smile—in the way parents do that makes you want to die of embarrassment—and asked me if I had a crush on him.
It was my first crush, and even though the only words we ever exchanged were soft hellos and head nods occasionally at school, my stomach would inexplicably tighten.
As an adult, I recognised that feeling. The feeling of loss and pain twining together in my chest and squeezing all my organs until I couldn’t breathe properly.
It wasn’t a crush. Sure, Finn was cute. In my eight-year-old brain, who didn’t understand what liking someone meant, I confused a crush for what it really was: jealousy.
I got why Mum thought I had a crush on Finn because most mornings, I’d sit by the living room window in my school uniform, watching as Finn walked to the bus station.
My eyes locked on the way he held his dad’s hand.
Sometimes, he’d jump in the puddles he saw on the street, smiling up at his dad, showing every single one of his teeth.
The first time he did it, taking one giant leap into the murky puddle, the water splashed over his dad’s jeans.
I winced, knowing what was about to happen, and hid behind the curtain, not wanting to see but unable to look away.
That was the first time I felt my heart crack.
I waited for the anger, the yelling, the veins throbbing in his neck as spit flew out his mouth.
All his dad did was throw his head back, laughing, pick up his little boy and tickle him until Finn’s eyes squeezed shut in fits of giggles.
I couldn’t understand it. Why wasn’t his dad yelling at him for jumping in the puddle and getting him wet? Why was he laughing?
That’s when I knew for sure that life wasn’t fair.
When I collected my school bag, pressing a kiss to Mum’s bony cheek as she sat at the kitchen table, catatonic but doing her best to hide it from me and tucked my head to my chest, making myself as small as possible as I slunk passed my dad—no eye contact.
No goodbye. Like I didn’t even exist. Him not noticing me was far preferable to the alternative.
When I made noise or got in his way, a sickening silence would settle over the house—the calm before the storm.
Seconds later, he would erupt. The words spilling out of his mouth were revolting.
The volume to which he screamed still made my ears ring when I recalled it.
That same twisting in my stomach kept me on edge as I went through the week, not having heard anything from George. Nothing.
Logically, I knew I could have called or sent him a text or something. But that felt too much like begging. And the thought of grovelling for anything from a man made me want to dry heave.
By the time Sunday came around, my grumpiness had turned to full-on cantankerousness.
I crawled out of bed, refusing to check my phone.
Roxy, who was curled into a ball on the pillow next to me, popped her head up.
I pulled on an oversized jumper and fluffy socks since the weather had turned, and glared at the device on my bedside table.
Roxy’s ears pricked, head tilted to the side as if saying, you could call him too, you know?
I huffed. ‘No. He clearly doesn’t want to get a hold of me.’
She let out a soft whine.
‘What? You think he’s waiting for me to call him?’ George was taking the act of being my relationship tutor more seriously than I expected. So maybe he was waiting for me to contact him. To make the first move.
My head spun. I let out a growl. ‘I can’t deal with this before coffee.’
As soon as I turned, heading for the kitchen, Roxy slowly got up, stretched and hopped off the bed after me.
Halfway through my second cup of black coffee in bed, as I read my favourite book, my phone buzzed.
My heart lurched—the back-stabbing bitch. I stopped myself from lunging at the phone like a lunatic, calmly putting my e-reader down next to Roxy, who had fallen asleep next to me once again. She let out a sigh, not pleased at being disturbed.
The apprehension in my limbs melted away when I saw Fallon was video calling.
I swiped to answer, and her face filled the screen.
She looked beautiful. Her hair had grown long, just above tit height, sitting in relaxed pink curls.
From a glance at the background, she was sitting in the passenger seat of a car.
‘He’s losing his mind,’ she blurted out before I had time to say anything.
I propped myself up against the headboard. ‘You’re gonna have to be more specific, babe.’
‘Oliver!’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘He’s got a list as long as a horse’s penis of requirements for a new house. He won’t settle for anything less. Even if the house is perfectly fine, he’ll spot something wrong and walk out. He’s giving me a migraine.’
Some people shouldn’t have as much money as they do, and Oliver was one of those people.
He was brilliant at his job, no doubt. He earned his spot, but I’ve seen him book out entire restaurants for him and Fallon, and he’d been known to buy her obscenely expensive jewellery.
When she found out the price of a necklace, she made him send it back, claiming she’d never feel comfortable wearing something that was the price of a kidney.
Hearing him being so particular didn’t surprise me. ‘What are his requirements?’
‘He wants heated floors.’
‘Course he does,’ I scoffed.
‘A hot tub, sauna, two walk-in closets,’ she rattled off. ‘An open planned kitchen with room for a double fridge, a game room, a theatre-’
‘In London?’ I exclaimed.
‘Yep,’ she said in a resigned tone.
‘Wow, he’s lost his mind.’
Her eyes glanced out of the window as her voice lowered a touch. ‘He’s a little antsy now the football season is over. He’s used to training and the schedule. Now, he doesn’t have that. He’s feeling a bit lost, so he’s throwing all his energy into finding us a house.’
‘It’s sweet he wants it to be perfect,’ I offered.
The tension in her shoulders drooped. ‘Yeah, it is. That’s actually why I called.
I got the confirmation email, and we’re all booked in.
I’ve also got all the balloons and streamers, and the cake is all sorted.
’ She started to build steam again, but my brain had fully lost track of the conversation.
My brows dipped. ‘Uh, what are you on about? Booked in for what?’
She stopped abruptly, face flashing with confusion. ‘The trip. With the four of us? We booked it over a month ago.’
Realisation hit me like a concrete slab. Fallon read my expression, brows raised in accusation. ‘You forgot.’
Shit. ‘No. I didn’t.’ I shook my head firmly. ‘It was a momentary lapse in memory.’
‘That’s the definition of forgetting.’
‘In my defence, I’ve had a lot going on.
’ Oliver’s birthday was next week, and last month Fallon set up a group chat with me, George and her, wanting to do something special for him to celebrate it and the end of the season.
She decided on a weekend away at a treehouse.
A fancy treehouse, because, Oliver. It was a surprise.
She was going to take him away without telling him where they were going, and we’d planned it so George and I would arrive early to set up birthday decorations.
And like the brilliant friend I was, the entire thing had completely slipped my mind.
We had arranged the trip before this whole bet thing.
Before George offered to be my dating tutor, and before I had been making myself come every night to the image of him.
And definitely, before I’d lost the last scrap of my sanity to a giant with a scruffy beard who looked like he should be in a vodka commercial.
‘Speaking of, how’s dating going?’
I considered myself an expert on Fallon’s facial expressions; each one I knew like the back of my hand and allowed me a glimpse into where her head was at. When her face creased and voice softened as she asked that question, I drew a complete blank.
‘It’s going,' I hedged. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as I recounted the date he’d taken me on, leaving out the end in his car. I wanted to keep that part to myself.
‘George hates crowds.’ Fallon said in disbelief. ‘He barely puts up with them to go see Oliver play.’