Chapter Two
Even washing my face and brushing my teeth feels like quite a grand gesture, given how I’m feeling, and the fact that I’m only going as far as the breakfast table. Then again, this is probably an intervention disguised as a breakfast, so let’s push the boat out – I’ll twist my long blonde hair into a messy bun, best I can do.
In the kitchen I’m greeted by my mum, my dad and my brother, Rory.
‘You look how you feel, I’m guessing,’ my brother teases.
‘Mum said you were up for school, but I didn’t realise you would be here,’ I point out.
‘You don’t want to be late,’ Mum reminds him.
Rory grabs a slice of toast, holding it between his teeth as he wrestles his jacket on.
‘He’s a teacher,’ Helen, my dad, Ken, reminds her.
‘Oh thank God,’ Rory jokes. ‘I was dreading PE.’
I roll my eyes.
Despite being my older brother – and ten years older than me – it never quite feels like Rory flew the nest, because he and his wife bought the house next door. He’s got two kids – well, almost. His wife, Sally, is eight months pregnant. Jack, his two-year-old, is very much here.
‘Anyway, see you guys later,’ he announces as he heads for the door. ‘Sally will be around with Jack when he’s dressed.’
I remember Rory saying that he was buying the house next door because he wanted his kids to have the same upbringing he did – what I didn’t realise was by that he meant that his parents would be doing most of the hard work. Mum looks after Jack, while Rory is at work, and while Sally is enjoying time to herself. She’s heavily pregnant now, sure, but she hasn’t been for the last two and a half years.
‘Come on, Leah, I got all of your favourites,’ Mum prompts me. ‘Well, the ones that survived Jamie Oliver.’
I laugh as I grab the box of Coco Pops, pouring myself a bowl.
Crunching aside, the silence is pure awkward. Dad offers a half-smile as Mum watches me like a hawk.
‘Come on, eat up, it’s the best cure,’ Mum insists.
‘She doesn’t need to eat cereal, she needs to get to the job centre,’ Dad ever so helpfully adds.
‘I was talking about her broken heart, not the fact that she’s unemployed,’ Mum replies.
Yikes, that one stings.
‘Sorry, love,’ she quickly adds. ‘I didn’t mean to bring that up.’
I bat my hand.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I reply. ‘What I really need is fifteen porn star martinis, enough ice cream to cause a shortage, and a horror movie marathon.’
‘I thought it was romcom movies for a broken heart?’ Mum says.
‘Not the way I do it,’ I reply as I pour myself a cup of tea.
‘You really think eating, drinking and screaming will help?’ Dad asks – and it’s like he can’t even hear his own words.
‘Er, yeah,’ I say, as though it were obvious.
‘She has to eat, Ken, do you want to add dying to her list of problems?’ Mum claps back.
I’m pretty sure I have options, before it comes to that. My God, being home is driving me crazy already.
‘So things went south with her boyfriend,’ Dad says casually as he butters his toast. He may as well have stabbed me with the knife. ‘She’s not the first adult to move back home, and she won’t be the last.’
Trust my dad to sum up the total collapse of my life in so few words.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my family so much it hurts, it’s just that sometimes it quite literally hurts.
I thought I had everything, living in London, working for a company that managed tours for bands and organised music festivals, and I thought I was in a loving relationship with my boss too (I know, what a cliché) but it turned out that he was also in a loving relationship with his boss, so when it all came out I got sacked and dumped on the same day. Yep, it’s a tale as old as time. What’s also obvious in the aftermath – not that you overthink it as your life is falling apart in real-time – is that it’s impossible to afford to live in London when you don’t have a job. I styled it out for as long as I could, while I looked for work, and I'm sure you can guess how well that went, given that I’m back living in the seaside town where I grew up.
‘Listen, can we not mention to anyone that I’m here,’ I ask.
‘Who are we even going to tell?’ Dad replies, as though that were a stupid thing to say.
‘Yes, of course,’ Mum adds.
‘Great, thanks,’ I reply.
‘Just a small thing really,’ Mum continues. ‘I did tell Mel.’
‘Oh,’ is about all I can say.
‘She was your best friend, I knew she would be so pleased that you were back,’ Mum continues. ‘And I thought it might cheer you up.’
Having to explain my situation to my childhood best friend – who I haven’t really kept in touch with – is the last thing I want to do.
I arrived home late last night under the cover of darkness, avoiding everyone except my family, and I had really wanted to keep it that way for as long as I could.
‘She said that she would love to meet you for lunch today,’ Mum tells me. ‘So I told her you would meet her at the deli, in town.’
‘Right, okay, so that’s a plan, is it?’ I check.
‘Yes,’ Mum replies. ‘You might like to think about getting ready soon. You don’t want to see her for the first time in years with your hair looking like that.’
‘Oh, none taken,’ I say sarcastically because it’s tradition to tag ‘no offence’ on to the end of an attack like that. ‘I suppose I’ll go get ready then.’
Now that I’m fully awake, I can see what a mess my bedroom is. Until I dumped all my stuff here last night, it was exactly as I abandoned it before I went to uni all those years ago. When I occasionally came home for Christmas or birthdays, it was a novelty. Like a themed hotel room, decorated with things that would make me nostalgic. Of course, things like that are fun for a while, but the novelty inevitably wears off, and nice to get back to reality.
The weirdest part of my room, without a doubt, are the posters are all over my walls. Yep, when I was a teenage girl I wore my heart on my sleeve, and my heart clearly belonged to Leonardo DiCaprio, because ninety per cent of the posters are of him – back when he was still practically a baby, and dated women who were older than me. Gosh, it was all to play for back then, not like now. Nothing will make you feel old quite like realising you’re probably too old for the celebrity you had a crush on when you were a kid – she says, as though my age would be the only thing that would make me unappealing to an actual movie star.
The remaining ten per cent of my posters, if you’re interested, are of Josh Hartnett, who I must have liked, just not as much as I liked Leo. These days, come on, there would be no contest. In the battle for my heart, Josh would win easy (again, though, bold of me to assume movie stars would fight over me).
I suppose I could take them down, seeing as though I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable, but it might be kind of nice, to feel like a kid again (and I clearly haven’t grown out of fantasising about marrying one of them).
Right, time to get myself into the shower, and get ready to meet Mel – oh, and to get my story straight, because I’m not sure how much I want to tell her about my situation just yet.