Chapter Eleven Jade
Chapter Eleven
Jade
I notice, distantly, that I’m shaking. The tea in my mug sloshes perilously close to the rim, and I set it down on the coffee table with a clatter before I soak my jeans or, worse, my sofa bed.
My scalp prickles and my chest is tight, and for a few seconds I think I might cry or laugh or have a panic attack, and honestly, I’m not sure which would be better.
The room feels small, suffocating, as if Mum’s revelations have sucked all the oxygen out, leaving behind only this weird, heavy air that buzzes with her secrets.
I take a breath, slow and deliberate, and look at Mum, who’s pretending not to notice my silent meltdown.
She’s nursing her own mug with that careful, unshowy neatness she applies to everything – small sips, a napkin tucked beneath for the inevitable ring.
According to her, she wasn’t always so neat and tidy.
But I can’t imagine her any other way – as if the world might fall to pieces if she ever let herself get messy.
I wonder, suddenly, if her twin is the same.
And what about my twin? Does Bella fold her napkins and sip her tea carefully?
Or is she the opposite – wild, carefree, effortless?
I don’t know, and that unknown gnaws at me in a way I can’t explain.
‘What the hell, Mum?’ I whisper. ‘How could you have kept all this a secret? How? What am I supposed to do now?’
Mum sets her cup down and says, ‘There’s nothing you need to do now, Jade.
It’s all in the past.’ She’s using her calm voice, the one she reserves for dealing with tricky customers at the pub or with me when I’m being ‘impossible’.
For a second, I want to scream: How can you be so blasé about this?
I have a twin. My life is basically a soap opera now!
But I don’t. Partly because I know she’ll just retreat further behind that calm mask, and also because if I start shouting, I might never stop.
Her words hang in the air, daring me to contradict her, to break the flimsy peace she’s trying to manufacture for us in this musty one-bedroom flat.
The sofa springs dig into the backs of my thighs, and I think about how many hours I’ve spent here, killing time, half watching Mum’s old dramas on the TV, bored out of my mind, and wishing I had someone who really got me.
I always imagined that if I had a sister, even a weird one, we’d at least have each other.
Now I know I do, and she’s just . . . somewhere else.
With a life I can only picture, richer and brighter and better than mine.
‘I can’t believe you never told me,’ I say, my voice brittle.
Mum’s gaze, which was fixed somewhere over my shoulder, snaps to me.
‘It wasn’t relevant. My sister made her choice.
She didn’t want us in her life, so I didn’t see any point in telling you.
What good would it have done? I mean, look at you now, you’re all riled up, annoyed, upset. It’s a waste of all our energy.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
Mum shrugs. ‘Sometimes life is harsh. Sometimes that’s just how it is.’
I almost laugh. The woman who cried when she ran over a hedgehog last spring, talking about harshness as if it’s just weather.
I want to ask her if she’s ever missed her sister, if she’s ever sat awake at night and imagined a parallel Mum somewhere, drinking expensive wine and talking in a posher accent, unknown and unreachable.
But I don’t, because I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
Instead, I pace to the window and stare out.
It’s late, and the streetlights turn everything jaundiced – the peeling paint on the bus shelter, the half-dead shrubs in the garden, the crappy cars parked with two wheels up on the pavement because the road is so narrow.
Sometimes I try to imagine who I’d be if we’d never moved here, if I had a dad, if I’d gone to a fancy school like Bella must have done.
Would I be more like her? Or would I just be a slightly posher version of myself – still angry, still restless, just with better skin and hair?
This must be why Mum is always so disappointed in me. Maybe she thinks she’s been landed with the wrong twin and has ended up with waste-of-space Jade. Well, maybe if I’d had a different mother, I’d have turned out happier and more successful. Like Bella.
Something else hits me like a ton of bricks. ‘Her dad?’ I ask, my voice little more than a whisper now. My heartbeat twanging against my ribcage.
Mum nods. ‘Her dad is your biological father.’
Elation and fury war in my chest. ‘And he just left me? You told me my dad never knew about me. That you split up before you knew you were pregnant. You told me you didn’t know how to get in touch with him!’
‘I’m sorry. I thought it was for the best. I didn’t know—’
‘You didn’t know I’d find out the truth,’ I interrupt, shaking my head, bitterness filling my mouth. ‘So, what you’re saying is that he chose Bella, and left me behind.’
‘He didn’t want to leave you, Jade. Penni and Paul wanted you both.’
I pause at this, but I’m not ready to let Mum off the hook. ‘So it was you who wanted to split us up!’ I spit.
‘I wanted to keep you. I didn’t want to give you up. Couldn’t bear to! You’re my child!’
My head is about to explode. The only thing I know for sure is that I am not okay. Not with this. Not with any of it. What else has Mum not told me? What else about my own life is a lie, or a secret, or ‘not relevant’?
I want to head back to Lymington right now and demand answers from a complete stranger who is, apparently, my twin sister. But I also want to throw up. I settle for running my hands through my hair until it sticks out in a halo of static, and then slumping back on to the sofa.
‘I have to speak to them,’ I say, feeling sick at the thought.
‘They don’t want us, Jade. And I don’t even know if they’ve told Bella about you.’ Mum’s words are hurtful.
‘Well then, I’ll tell her.’
‘No!’
‘You can’t stop me.’ I get to my feet.
Mum stands too and grabs hold of my arm.
‘Please, Jade. They don’t even know we live here.
I came down south to try to be closer to them, but I never acted on it.
I always kept my distance.’ She lets go of my arm and mutters, ‘Couldn’t stand to see them as a happy family.
They probably think we’re still up in Yorkshire. ’
‘Then it’s about time they found out we’re not,’ I snap, striding out into the hall where I slip on my battered trainers and my ancient parka.
‘Jade! Don’t do this.’ Her eyes are wide, her face the same shade as the magnolia walls.
I shake her off and walk out into the evening.
The air is sharp and cold, and I welcome it.
It feels more honest than the air in the flat.
I half hope I’ll see someone I know, even one of the girls from school who pretend not to remember me, so I can spill my secret and watch their face twist in confusion.
But the streets are empty, the only movement a fox scavenging near the bins and a drunk couple arguing outside the Turkish takeaway.
I have no intention of going to Lymington to see my newfound family right now.
I’m too worked up to think straight, let alone have a coherent conversation.
But it won’t hurt for Mum to stew in her own juices for a while.
See how it feels to have all control taken away.
I know, deep down, that I’m being mean. That I’m lashing out.
But what does she expect? She’s lied to me all these years and kept me apart from the person who could have been my ally.
My best friend. I’ve been going through life on my own, always feeling like something’s missing.
Maybe this is why. Maybe that hollowness in my chest is because we were separated.
I roam aimlessly until I realise I’m close to Zac’s parents’ house, a small terrace in a nicer part of town than mine, but not by much.
I hesitate, debating whether it’s worth the hassle of dealing with Zac’s mum’s disapproving stares, but my feet keep moving until I’m at the door.
I ring the bell, and immediately regret it – maybe he’s already gone to the pub.
Maybe he’s with some new girlfriend, the one I’m always convinced he’ll leave me for.
But then the porch light flicks on, and Zac answers, hair tousled, eyes pinched and glazed from one of his gaming sessions.
‘Hey,’ I say, suddenly exhausted.
‘You came.’ Zac’s eyes light up. ‘I was just about to leave for the pub. Shall we go now, or do you want to come in for a bit first?’
‘Do you mind if we don’t go out?’ I ask.
‘Really?’ His face drops. ‘Jed and Cal are expecting me.’
I give him a look, and his shoulders drop too. ‘But, no, yeah, that’s cool. We can stay in. I’ll message them.’
‘Thanks.’ I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
‘Close the door, Zac! You’re letting all the cold air in,’ his mum calls from upstairs.
‘Sorry!’ he calls back.
Inside, the house smells like toast and air freshener. Thankfully, his parents are already in bed, so Zac leads me up to his room, dodging a stack of laundry and their cat, Leo, who hisses at me as usual.
I sit on the edge of Zac’s unmade bed, and he immediately starts fussing, clearing away crumpled clothes and beer cans, and putting on some music.
‘You okay?’ he asks, sitting next to me.
I shake my head – a small, tight movement. He puts his arm around me, and for a second, I let myself collapse into him, breathing in his familiar scent of sweat, shampoo, and rolling tobacco.
We sit like that for a while, both of us silent except for the low hum of the computer fan and Zac’s breathing.
Eventually, he breaks the silence, wanting to know what happened when I confronted Mum, but I ask if we can leave it for now. It’s too big to talk about. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. Not yet. A brief image of the bailiffs pops into my head, but I don’t want to talk about that either.
Instead, I distract him with my body and my lips, kissing him harder than usual, like I’m trying to ignite something in the dead air.
He responds, surprised but not unhappy, and soon we’re tangled up together, in knotted sheets and desperation.
I want to forget, for just a short while, that there’s another me out there, a better or worse version of Jade, living the life that could have been mine.
Lost in our bodies, I don’t stay quiet, and he keeps shushing me, putting his hand over my mouth.
His parents go to bed at some ridiculous hour as they have early starts, which means we have to keep the noise down.
Zac is being such a drag about it that I pull away, the moment lost. I reach down to the floor and yank one of his old T-shirts over my head before lighting one of his roll-ups.
‘You can’t smoke in here, Jade.’
‘So open a window,’ I retort, knowing how mean I sound but unable to care.
He shakes his head, but does as I ask, then takes the roll-up from me and inhales deeply.
The more Zac takes shit from me, the more he annoys me.
I know I’m being an irrational bitch, but I can’t help it.
My mind is all over the place. I want to cry.
I want to smash something. I want to do something terrible.
I take back the roll-up, lie next to Zac and stare at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster. ‘Do you think people can change?’ I ask.
‘Dunno. Not really. Why?’
‘Just wondering.’
He props himself up on one arm, peering at me with that intensely sincere look he sometimes gets. ‘You’re not your mum, you know. Or your dad. Or anyone else. You’re . . . you.’
That’s the problem, I want to say. I don’t know who that is. I’m just a collection of habits and reactions and now, apparently, a twin-shaped emptiness no one bothered to mention to me.
Zac doesn’t press. He just wraps his arms around me and holds on, like if he squeezes tight enough, I’ll stay here and not drift off into the ether of other people’s choices. I want to believe he can anchor me. I really do.