49. Sloane
Sloane
“And you didn’t know that the client was your dad?!” Jessie’s voice is incredulous as I recount the disastrous lunch with my father.
“Nope. You should have seen it. The poor boy went completely pale.” I laugh, taking a sip of my spicy marg.
“Fucking hell, Sloane. Talk about awkward.”
“That’s not even the worst part,” I mutter, eyes glancing up at the stage. We’re at the bar at Salt, and Keira’s about to launch into a burlesque strip routine. She’s got the ostrich feathers out and everything.
“What happened?”
“He threatened Freddie’s job. Well, he threatened to pull their contracts. Something to do with a morality clause.”
Jessie lets out a sharp exhale.
“That’s a low blow. I’m sorry your dad is such a cunt.”
“He has neither the warmth nor the depth,” I reply. “He’s a cockroach at best.”
“Fair,” she laughs. “So what are you going to do?”
“Here’s the thing.” I brace myself. I can do this. Jessie waits patiently for me to organise my thoughts. “We’ve known each other a few years, right?”
“Right.”
“And that whole time, I’ve been doing my master’s in psychology, right?”
“Right…”
“Well, my dad has been paying for it. And paying for my flat in Bermondsey.”
“Oh shit,” she says, frowning. “So you really don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Yep. Do you think I’m a terrible person? A total sham?”
“Why would I think you’re a sham?”
“Because I know how I come across – everyone thinks I’m this independent, go-getter gal who just does whatever she wants and takes no shit from anyone.
But it’s not true. I’m a fucking trust-fund kid with daddy issues.
I’m literally the opposite of independent.
I’m completely reliant on a man I can’t stand because my mom convinced me that this was the best revenge for all the years of child support he never paid. ”
There’s a long pause where she just looks at me.
“Babe,” she finally says, “I can see that this has been weighing on you. And I mean this in the nicest possible way – but no one is thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about you.”
“But I?—”
“Just listen to me for a moment. Yes, you do come across as super independent. And yes, I have borne witness to you refusing to take shit from people. Does your financial situation take away from either of those things? No.”
“But I’ve been living a lie.”
“In what way?”
“Not even Emmy knows that my dad pays for our flat. Don’t you think people will judge me if they find out I’m essentially being bankrolled by a morally corrupt wankstain who – sidebar – actually hates me?”
Jessie sighs, then places a hand on my thigh.
“Anyone who is worth their salt will not judge you. We all have a past, and a story that goes along with it. What matters is not how we got here, what matters is what you do next. If you don’t want to take his money anymore, you need to make a plan.”
“But—”
She holds up a hand to cut me off.
“I understand your feelings, I really do. But I think you’re overthinking this.
You don’t like the music? Then change the playlist. You’re the captain of this ship, babe, not your dad.
You might not be financially independent right now, but you’re capable of being so. You just need to know what you want.”
The look she gives me brooks no argument, and I slump back against the bar as I realise she’s right.
“You know, you’d make an excellent therapist.”
“I know.” She gives me a look that’s suffused with love and patience.
“Don’t make the mistake of telling yourself a story about your situation and just believing it.
Who you are is more than where you’ve come from.
Go out there and be the magnificent person you are on your terms. Everyone who loves you will just be cheering you from the sidelines. ”
I blink back the tears that are threatening to fall. Rationally, I know Jessie is right. She always is. But emotionally I’m still on shaky ground. This shit’s only going to start to feel better once I’ve made a plan. And that’s got to start with me.
“Thanks, Jess. I’m lucky to have you. If you know of any jobs coming up in our little world, will you let me know? Lotus has offered me a few shifts supporting her with Slick Love events, but it’s hardly a steady income.”
“I’ll keep an ear to the ground,” she says, squeezing my leg before letting go. Her phone beeps on the bar and she glances over. “Oh shit, we’ve got to cut this catch-up short. Someone’s just thrown up in one of the playrooms.”
And with that, she gives me a quick hug then speeds off behind the velvet curtains.
I spend the following day writing up an exit plan. It’s got two main components: find a job and find a new place to live.
I have to prove to myself that I can live independently. Then I can finally let go of my bullshit. Right?
Emmy was very insistent on paying me rent when she moved in, and though it was way less than market rate, I’ve moved every cent – or rather, penny – into a savings pot which should give me enough for a deposit on a small flat.
I start a spreadsheet that Cole would be proud of, mapping out income and expenditure.
I can probably kiss Bermondsey goodbye, but there might be some spots further south that I can find, or maybe out east. Some of the girls who come to Salt live in Dalston.
I bet one of them would have a spare room.
I look around my beautiful apartment and sigh.
I have loved it here. This is where I fell in love with London.
It’s where I spent most of my time immersed in my studies.
Before Em moved in, it was just me and all my beautiful plants, living on takeout and sunlight.
And though it’s seen me through a big chunk of my twenties, it also feels like it’s ok to let it go now.
Next up, I re-do my resume. It’s a tad sparse given I’ve been studying for so long, but there’s a bit of bar work and some events stuff on there.
I snort as I add ‘events assistant, freelance’ as my current employment.
I can hardly sit down in an interview and explain that I’m oil-pourer number two at an event that’s one slippery digit short of a sex party.
Whatever, I’ll wing it on the day. Helping Lotus comes with health and safety, participant support, logistics, strategy…
By the end of the day, I have a solid plan for taking control of my life. Jessie’s right. I am the captain of this ship.
I pull out my phone, compose the email I’ve been dreading, then turn it off.
Tonight, I’ll have a bath and a glass of wine.
Tomorrow, I burn the safety net.