Chapter 2 #2
Silence. I feel a chill on the back of my neck. I know she means well, but I’m just not in the mood. Still silence, like the line has gone dead.
‘Hello? Mum?’ I say.
There is a very deep cough at the other end of the line.
‘Poppy, Roberta here. I ’preciate you’re having a hard time.
You sound highly strung, but I have some news for you and I don’t care if Angela is your mother.
She’s also my mate, has been for a very long time.
So hear me when I say that if you dare speak to her like that again, I promise you I’ll tear your legs off and stuff them in your ears so hard you’ll need one of your brain doctor friends to get them out. Do you understand me?’
I squeeze out a very warbly, high-pitched sound that is understood as a yes. I hear shuffling, the receiver changing hands and the sound of heavy steps walking away.
My mum comes back on the line. ‘Right, there’s fifty pounds in my jewellery box. Go out and get some bits from the shop. I’ll be back by four. And make sure you turn your phone on. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, sweetheart, so embrace it. Seize the day!’
‘I will. I will definitely embrace it. Sorry for what I said earlier – just a bit out of sorts – but I’m seizing the day right now, okay?
I promise!’ I speak slowly and clearly and in the most upbeat singsong voice I can muster.
Then I wait for my mum to hang up first. And then I wait for the tone to go dead.
Absolutely dead. Then I wait some more just in case Roberta might still be around ready to pounce on me with some final violent words of encouragement.
I do exactly as Mum says straight away, as if there is a hidden camera planted and I’m being live-streamed into the salon and her tough-nut girl gang are watching me Big Brother style.
I reassemble my phone, plug it in and make myself a strong cup of coffee.
Mum is right about one thing: it was surprisingly wise of me to turn off my phone last night; uncharacteristically wise, since I have never, ever turned it off before.
Actually, I hope it comes back on again; it is looking very dark and lifeless right now, so fingers crossed.
It lights up, its little smartphone chest spluttering a hopeful screen breath, and then erupts machine-gun-like with beeps, firing notifications of new messages, missed calls and voicemails.
I take a large gulp of coffee; it looks like I’m going to need something to get through this backlog.
Forty-two missed calls.
Eleven texts.
Three voicemails.
All the voicemails are from my ex-dad. There’s one text from Gregory, and everything else is from Harriet. At least they love me. At least they care about what’s happened to me. At least I’ve got a best friend and a boyfriend who give a shit about whether I’ve been sectioned or not.
Oh Gregory, maybe you’ve already realised that actually it doesn’t matter that I haven’t got the fellowship, because you have!
We can still move into Ivy Court. We can still have the Egyptian cotton sheets and crystal glassware, and I can be the one who brings you cups of tea while you lose yourself in fascinating new research.
I could pick up some teaching or casual administration; maybe I could even be your assistant!
I wait for my phone to charge and look fondly at Harriet’s missed calls.
Oh how I miss her already. She is my right-hand woman!
And although I’m actually left-handed, I still use my right hand for all sorts of things, every single day.
Life with no Harriet by my side … well, I’m already suffering from this amputation.
I’ll invite her here to stay. That’ll count as surrounding myself with a person, which is close to what Mum wants, and I know I’ll feel a trillion times better once she’s here.
Yes. Plans are hatching. I’d high-five myself if I could.
I delete all the voicemails from my ex-dad because I know what they are going to be about and I’m just not willing to go there right now. I open the first text, which was sent yesterday at around the time I bundled myself into my mum’s car.
Harriet, 13.42: ‘Are you okay? What’s happening? Confused. Tell me where you are.’
Harriet, 13.59: ‘Where are you? Am looking everywhere but can’t see you.’
Harriet, 14.20: ‘Am in the Fox and Hound. You are not here Poppy. Wtf?’
Harriet, 15.00: ‘This isn’t funny. Why don’t you pick up your phone?’
Harriet, 16.10: ‘Still trying to reach you. I have something to tell you …’
Harriet, 16.30: ‘Tried ringing again. No answer. I have been allocated Ivy Court. Wanted to tell you in person. Call me, Poppy. Worried about you.’
Harriet, 17.47: ‘Everyone is getting shitfaced. You should just come back. Honestly, nobody would care now. J?gerbomb time.’
Harriet, 18.55: ‘Gregory just asked me where you are. Come down here!’
Gregory, 19.00: ‘Dear Poppy, this is not the way I’d planned to do this, but I have been all over looking for you and it looks like you are not coming back.
I think you know what’s coming. Although I really enjoy your company and I think you’re cheeky and funny in your own way, we both know that our time is up and I really want us to start new chapters after Banbridge with a clean break.
I have wanted to have this discussion with you for a while, but with exams looming and living in such close proximity, I thought it best to wait until today; until we were ready to go our separate ways in every sense. Best regards, G.’
Harriet, 21.56: ‘Gregory actually very sweet, so funny.’
Harriet, 04.12: ‘House party at Gregory’s.’
Harriet, 10.30: ‘Just woken up. Feel like shit. Don’t know how to say this. Last night Gregory and I, well, you can prob guess. He told me you two were finished. My head is all over the place – I am so so sorry. Need to go. Sick as dog. Call me.’
No more new messages. Oh my God. OH MY GOD.
Gregory has finished with me and Harriet has slept with Gregory!
Harriet has had actual naked, skin-to-skin sex with GREGORY.
God, I cannot take it in. I feel sick. Do you hear that, Harriet, I’m the one who is as sick as a dog.
Gregory wanted to break up with me for a while?
The fucking cheek! I know things weren’t perfect, but we were in the middle of exams!
Nobody looks or acts their best when they’ve been squirrelled away in the library for six months, living off cheese and sugar and caffeine; no time to sleep or socialise or relax. What did he expect?
I smack my hand against the kitchen table. I honestly cannot believe that this is happening. The person I love the most with the other person I love the most and who doesn’t love me back.
I grab my phone and go straight to my contacts.
I then block and delete the number of every single person I met during my ten years at Banbridge.
Except Dr Burley. He can stay. He, at least, tried to help me.
Why? Because I’m livid at Harriet and Gregory for waiting until I was out of the picture to doubly betray me.
Well done Harriet, nicely played. Congratu-fucking-lations on Gregory and Ivy Court and the fellowship and basically taking over everything that I’ve been living for.
If this is friendship, then I’d rather go solo.
Four numbers have survived my contact massacre.
My mum, Frank, Burley and (by the skin of his teeth) my ex-dad.
So that’s it. I am as on my own as I’ve ever been.
My phone vibrates as if outraged. It’s a text from Mum: ‘Roberta suggests you go down and register at the job centre straight away. She says the paperwork can take forever so get down there PRONTO.’
I answer straight away; such is my terror at Roberta’s wrath: ‘Will do it today! And be sure to thank her for all this great advice.’
Day one of the rest of my life looks like this: no friends, no boyfriend, cold house, relentless torrent of invasive questions, deep dread of speaking with ex-dad and all other enquiring humans; and just in case that wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve committed to a trip to the job centre.
And if day one of being a grown-up means stubbing your toe really badly when you kick the fridge barefoot and subsequently howl profanities through the double glazing at the neighbours’ dog, then yeah, I’m all over it.