Don't Ask (22 page)

I winced. It was horrible hearing that from Alex, knowing she and Jack had discussed my shortcomings. I thought, she must have loved saying it, even if she didn’t let it show.

‘I feel sorry for you,’ she said. ‘You messed up what could have really good for you. But do you know the funniest thing? In a strange way I’m actually kind of glad all
this happened. It’s made Jack get back in touch with me, which he probably wouldn’t have done otherwise. It’s got us talking again. So I suppose I should be thanking
you.’

‘Do you think you’re going to get back together?’ I didn’t want her to say yes, even though I knew there was no hope for Jack and me.

‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Who knows? To be honest, I don’t think I’d tell you even if I did.’

‘I think he still loves you,’ I said. ‘For what it’s worth, I think he always has. I’m not making excuses for what I did, but that was part of it. I couldn’t
compete.’

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, taken aback. She composed herself. ‘It’s big of you to tell me that.’ She paused again. ‘You know, I think that maybe we could have been
friends – real friends – if we’d met some other way, and there wasn’t a Jack. In another life, maybe.’

‘Me too.’

There was a silence. The gaps between our sentences were growing larger, and I knew the conversation was coming to its conclusion.

‘Please will you tell your parents I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll send your dad the money for the ticket and the scarf.’

‘No, please don’t. I’m not going to tell them what’s happened. They’d be too hurt, and they already worry about me talking to people on Topfriendz. I don’t
want to confirm their fears. I think I’ll just tell them we had a big fight and aren’t friends any more. I’ll just make something up.’

‘OK,’ I said. I don’t know why it mattered, but I hoped she wouldn’t say anything too horrible.

‘Can I just check something?’ She laughed, nervously. ‘You’re not a Tottenham fan, are you? Because that I really couldn’t forgive.’

‘No, Alex. I’m a Gooner through and through. If I were ever genuinely to support a football team, it would be Arsenal.’

‘That’s OK, then.’

There was another silence. I felt so drained, so empty, that even the annoying voice in my head, the one that never shuts up, couldn’t think of anything to say.

Alex took a deep breath. ‘All right, I’m going to hang up now. I meant what I said before. After I’ve put the phone down, please don’t call me or text me or message
me.’

‘I won’t. I promise. I’m going to delete Laura’s profile right now. You’ll never hear or see from me again.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I mean that in the nicest possible way.’

I laughed, a hollow laugh. ‘Bye, Alex.’

‘Bye, Lily,’ she said. ‘Oh, and goodbye, Laura.’

RIP Laura Thompson
January 2009 - April 2009
She will be dearly missed by all her friends
on Topfriendz, especially by Igor
and by her alter ego, Lily Lawton

Laura Thompson doesn’t exist any more. A few minutes ago, I deleted her profile from Topfriendz. Murder in cyberspace is quick and bloodless; I don’t think Laura
felt a thing.

I’m not certain that she’s really gone, though. I read somewhere that you can never fully delete something that’s been on the web. There are always traces of it, ghost pages,
hiding somewhere. One day, if they wanted to, someone with more technical know-how than me could resurrect Laura. And I’m sure that if they compared her profile to the others on Topfriendz,
they wouldn’t be able to tell that she wasn’t a real person. There are probably thousands of Lauras out there: made-up people who vanish into the ether like grains of cyber sand, the
moment you switch off your broadband connection.

She’ll always be part of me, of course: there whenever I think of Jack, or Alex. If it weren’t for Laura, I wouldn’t know about football, or how to make great cupcakes, or how
to get the train to the other side of London on my own. Living with her for six months has changed me. I feel ten years older and about a hundred years wiser.

I’ve always thought there must be a reason why the word ‘dual’ is in ‘individual’. Now I think I know why. Maybe we all have a Laura inside us, a person we could
have been, a somebody who says and does the things we wouldn’t dare to do, who asks what we dare not ask.

I do know there’s no point searching for the ‘perfect’ boyfriend, not unless you really do want to date a Ken doll. Everyone has bruises and blemishes, and some of them are
hidden on the inside, so deep that even you and I don’t know they’re there. If you look too hard for them, if you push and push, you’ll only end up creating new ones.

It’s always good to have questions, but sometimes, it’s better not to ask.

Thank you to Stephanie Thwaites and Janice Swanson at Curtis Brown. (Goodbye and good luck, Janice!) Thank you to Brenda Gardner, Anne Clark Melissa Hyder and everyone at
Piccadilly Press. Big thanks to: Claire Fry, the bravest person I know; to Nula Bealby for the phone therapy; to Rachel Baird for the pep talks; to Julie Howell for her Jooly’s Joint support;
and to all my friends and family for being there.
Merci
to the Citea Nice Magnan for the space to write, and the sea view. Cheers to Facebook for the distraction, the Scrabble games and
the inspiration. And, last, but by no means least, thanks to my husband Steve for his encouragement, patience and love.

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