Chapter 6
‘OK, that’s it,’ Mum announced mid-way through the following week, snapping shut the library book she’d been pretending to read with a crisp flourish. ‘I can’t just sit by and watch this anymore.’
‘Watch what?’ I frowned, absentmindedly stirring my coffee as I continued staring at the spot in front of the fridge that, until Mum’s arrival twenty minutes ago, Joe had been occupying.
The two of us, dancing in the dim glow from the open fridge door, bodies almost but not quite touching as we swayed together, his hand hovering over mine, my head over his shoulder, oblivious to the repetitive beeping of the open fridge door.
‘This. You.’ She gestured in my direction, her hand falling with a frustrated smack on the trouser leg of her dungarees. They were bright yellow denim with little embroidered flowers spilling out the top of the pockets. If positivity had a designated uniform, that would be it.
‘Trust me when I say this comes from a place of love, sweetheart, but you look .?.?. well, terrible,’ she admitted, placing her warm hand over mine as though that might soften the blow.
I’m not sure if it was the shirt I’d been wearing for three days straight or the diabolical state of my roots that made her physically wince, but her mouth and eyes puckered tightly at the seams. ‘By the looks of it you’re barely sleeping, I don’t even want to know the last time you showered, and you spend all your time holed up in your bedroom. It’s not healthy.’
I fidgeted in my seat, the creaking wicker giving away my discomfort as I struggled to find the words to tell her this was it.
This was my best. Every day I got up, I washed (sometimes), I put on clothes as if I cared what I looked like, I tried to breathe, to live, even though I had absolutely zero desire to do so.
‘This isn’t living, Jenny,’ Mum added softly when I failed to respond. ‘It’s existing at most and, to be honest, you’re barely doing that. Honestly, it pains me to see you like this. Alice and Jacob are worried about you too; they said you barely see them these days?’
I scowled into my lap, misplaced anger bubbling up inside of me at the thought of the three of them conspiring behind my back.
I could see the look of concern on Mum’s face, her forehead wrinkled with worry and I reminded myself it was coming, as she said, from a place of love.
But it did little to comfort me. If anything, it just reminded me what that felt like – that unconditional, I’d-do-anything-for-you love – and my heart squeezed with memories of the past.
‘I’m fine, Mum,’ I said, plastering a smile on my face but it clearly looked about as fake as it felt.
‘Jenny—’ Mum paused in a way that made me stiffen, ‘—you know, deep down, this isn’t what Joe would want. He’d want you to be happy, to find your joy again. Whoever this is—’ she said, gesturing at me, ‘—it isn’t you. It isn’t my Jenny.’
I felt a familiar knot tighten in my stomach the way it always did whenever someone mentioned Joe. The legs of my chair jarred harshly against the linoleum floor as I made to leave, but Mum’s hand on my thigh stopped me.
‘Please, Mum, I can’t do this,’ I whispered, a quivering ball of emotions lodged in the back of my throat, threatening to detonate at any moment.
My eyes met hers for the first time since she’d sat down twenty minutes ago, a look of silent understanding passing between us as she simply nodded, her grip loosening.
‘You need to break this cycle, Jenny, try something new.’
I hid my face in Joe’s coffee mug, not having the heart to tell her that I’d had enough change in my life recently, and ‘something new’ was the last thing I wanted. ‘I’m going to a spin class at the gym tonight, you should come!’ Her eyes lit up at the idea.
‘The last time I set foot in a gym was three years ago and it was purely to use their showers when our hot water wasn’t working.’
‘You need to leave this house, Jennifer,’ Mum said firmly, apparently not taking no for an answer.
She swiped my still half-full cup of coffee away, replacing it with a banana and a brisk hmm of satisfaction, as though a phallic-shaped fruit was the answer to all my problems. ‘Besides, you might surprise yourself and actually enjoy it.’
‘ This. Is. Hell! ’ I panted, barely scraping together enough oxygen to get the words out and immediately wishing I’d preserved the energy.
My thighs were burning as they pistoned up and down, valiantly trying to keep up with the annoyingly perky spin instructor at the front of the class who was wearing dangerously short shorts and looked like he’d barely broken a sweat.
‘Looking good out there, gang. OK, we’re going to pick up the pace now in three .?.?. two .?.?. one .?.?. let’s go!’
I groaned as the instructor stood up on the pedals, watching with dread as twenty Lycra-clad bottoms lifted off their saddles around me in perfect time to the chorus of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ .
I turned to my right, watching in disbelief as my somehow still-grinning mother gave me a double thumbs up, legs spinning almost as fast as the neon-coloured wheels.
‘Work that core, ladies, work it. Come on, finish strong. Here we go! How are we doing on that leader board? Yaaaaaas, Courtney, I see you riding high at the top there.’
The brunette in front of me with an impossibly long ponytail and a full face of make-up beamed proudly around the room as though intent on letting everyone know that was her.
While Mum had somehow maintained a perfect middle-of-the-pack ranking the whole class, I was firmly in last place, three points below some other poor sucker called Vivienne who, like me, was trailing woefully behind everyone else.
‘Good job, Brenda, keep it up. You’re killing it, Michelle. Jennifer. Yes, you, Jennifer – back row, third from the left, you can’t hide from me.’
Fuck, he’d seen me. I’d been taking a much-needed break, doubled over on my handlebars, heaving in great gulps of air.
‘Come on, Jennifer!’ the instructor barked, yelling into his Britney-style headset like an army drill sergeant. ‘Work it, Jennifer, don’t give up on me now. Today’s the day you meet the best version of yourself. Today’s the day you look in that mirror and visualise the change you want to see.’
I lifted my head, finding my reflection in the intimidating wall of mirrors in front of me.
My face was bright red, bordering on the same shade as Courtney’s sports bra, my cheeks blowing outwards like an aggressive pufferfish.
Sweat had plastered my hair slick against my forehead, my once light-grey t-shirt now decorated with ever-expanding dark patches under both arms and between my boobs.
If this was the best version of myself, I was in even deeper shit than I realised.
‘Nice work, Vivienne, another point on the board! That new hip is really working,’ bellowed the instructor, throwing a thumbs up in the direction of a woman at the end of my row.
I turned to offer her a look of solidarity, my fellow sufferer at the bottom of the leader board.
But when I saw the grey hair, the dentures, the bifocals with the delicate pearl chain, I quickly turned back to the front.
That was Vivienne?! She was old enough to be my grandmother!
‘ Ahhhhh! ’ The heavy bass of the music vibrating through the dimly lit room drowned out my scream as I heaved myself up off the handlebars, somehow convincing my legs to keep on turning. I couldn’t let myself be beaten by octogenarian Vivienne and her new hip.
‘Yes, Jennifer. Loving your attitude, never give up, girl. Keep pushing for ten .?.?. nine .?.?. eight .?.?.’
My legs were burning. As in, they felt like they were on actual fire.
But still I kept pedalling, some misplaced fear of failure preventing me from giving up.
I turned to my right, catching a glimpse of Vivienne who was looking morosely up at the scoreboard as I moved to within a point of her.
She turned and caught my gaze, her eyes narrowing behind her inch-thick spectacles. Oh, it was so on.
‘.?.?. seven .?.?. six .?.?. five .?.?. four .?.?.’
I dropped my head back down, watching beads of sweat trickle off my nose, everything between my legs throbbing from being bashed repeatedly against the rock-hard saddle.
‘.?.?. three .?.?. two .?.?. one .?.?. woooo !’
‘YESSSS!’ I shrieked, punching both hands in the air as I looked up at the giant TV screen.
Two whole points from the bottom, and more importantly, not last. I turned and gave Vivienne a smug smile but she was already heading for the exit, leaning heavily on her walking stick in a way that took the shine off my victory somewhat.
Christ, how tragic was my life that I viewed beating a little old lady with a dodgy hip and a free bus pass as an achievement?
I winced as I hoisted my left leg over the saddle, worrying that I’d done permanent damage to my vagina as I swivelled to face sideways, my legs dangling freely for one glorious minute as I watched the instructor hop nimbly off his bike and dab himself unnecessarily with the world’s smallest towel.
‘How great was that?’ Mum grinned, her face sporting a healthy glow.
‘So great,’ I wheezed, not having the heart to tell her I felt ten times worse than when I arrived. I hobbled gingerly after her, walking as though I still had something in between my legs – and not in a good way.
My phone rang as I was crossing the tiny car park at the back of the Brighton Tribune after work.
I wouldn’t go as far as to say there was a pep in my step at the thought of curling up on the sofa with Joe watching old Star Wars episodes – Mum was working the late shift tonight so we’d have the flat to ourselves – but my feet didn’t drag in the same way they had when I’d arrived at 9 a.m. that morning.