Jemima J. (49 page)

And I do think she’ll be fine, because she’s a survivor. She still says she’s planning to come home, but I’m not so sure. She and Bill seem to be going strong, and I’ve got a feeling she may well stay out there after all, but either way she’s sworn she’ll be back, even if it’s just for a holiday, and I want her to meet Ben, and Geraldine, to see how happy I am in the place I belong.

And the funny thing is I’ve realized that Lauren and I aren’t so different after all. That I’m a survivor too; that the experiences I’ve had over the last few months would surely have broken someone weaker than me. It’s not that I feel terribly strong on the surface, but I know, as an absolute certainty, that deep down I have an amazing reserve of strength, which all in all is pretty comforting really.

Although standing here, looking for the taxi sign, I’m not feeling that strong. And I know it’s only been six weeks, but I’m not even sure where I belong anymore. I know my home’s in London, but I feel that I can’t take steps backwards, go back to the life I had before. I assumed I’d go back to living with Sophie and Lisa, and in many ways I was dreading it, that really would have felt like moving backwards, but luckily that’s changed too.

I phoned them last night, thinking that perhaps I’d just stay
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there until I found somewhere else, and
‌
—stupidly, I know
‌
—I was surprised, and slightly disappointed, when Sophie said a friend of Lisa’s was staying in the room, and that they’d put my things under the stairs. They weren’t expecting me back for ages, and they were really sorry but they couldn’t kick this girl out.

I know it’s a good thing, but I panicked for a few minutes, until I rang Geraldine, who once again came to my rescue. She’s moved into her new flat, which, needless to say, is “absolutely gorgeous,” and the spare room, she said, would be perfect for me.

“But what about Nick?” I asked.

“What about him?” she laughed. “You won’t mind if he stays here sometimes, will you? Plus, you’ll have Ben, and just think Jemima, we’ll have the most amazing time. I’d love to have you as a roommate, it’s going to be brilliant. I can run out to Habitat this afternoon and get some curtains, and then the room’s done. It’s yours.”

How could I argue with her?

I clutch the piece of paper with Geraldine’s new address, and get in line for a taxi, loving the fact that the cabs that are slowly lining up and pulling away are so familiar, so solid, that they are London, that they, more than anything else, tell me I’m home.

And I wait in line until finally it’s my turn to climb into the cab, and as it pulls out of the airport I rest my head against the window and watch the lights on the motorway whizzing past, and the closer we get to home, the more excited I start to feel.

This is a whole new start, Jemima Jones. A whole new chapter: mine to write however I choose. And the first step is not going back to the
Kilburn Herald.
If Ben can do it, so can I. I’m going to fulfill that dream, work on a glossy magazine, and that’s just the beginning. Once upon a time this would have terrified me, but now I can’t wait to get started, to set off on a new journey, this time surrounded by people I love, who love me in return.

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And on we go. Through Hammersmith Broadway, up to Shepherd’s Bush, along the Westway. We pull off and make our way up Maida Vale, through Kilburn, to Geraldine’s flat in West Hampstead.

And I look around me, and I can see that London’s smelly, and dirty, and that the people look, if anything, slightly tired and harassed. The sun’s nowhere to be seen, and as we drive drops of rain start slowly splattering on the windscreen, and the sky darkens with rain clouds.

No one I’ve seen has the remotest hint of a tan, and all along the Kilburn High Road there are people bundled up in anoraks, hurrying to get their shopping home before they get soaked.

And I love it. I’m safe here. Safe, happy, and secure. I don’t care that it’s the antithesis of California. I don’t care that the weather’s always shit. I don’t care that no one, ever, says, “Have a nice day now.” It’s wonderful, and vibrant, and real. And most of all, it’s home.

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Jemima Jones is no longer skinny, no longer hardbodied, no longer obsessed with what she eats. Jemima Jones is now a voluptuous, feminine, curvy size 10 who is completely happy with how she looks. Jemima Jones now eats what she wants, when she wants, as often as she wants, as long as it’s reasonably healthy.

And Jemima Jones is no longer lonely. Jemima Jones no longer dreams of the perfect romance with a man she can’t have. She no longer believes that true love only exists outside herself.

Because Jemima Jones never dared to believe in love. Jemima Jones never dared to believe in herself. She never dared to believe that one of these days fate would actually take the time and trouble to pick her out from the crowd and smile upon her.

But fairy tales can come true, and just like Jemima Jones, or Mrs. Ben Williams as she’s known outside of the glossy magazine where she now works, if we trust in ourselves, embrace our faults, and brazen it out with courage, strength, bravery, and truth, fate may just smile upon us too.

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JANE GREEN
worked for many years as a journalist, with occasional forays into public relations for film, television, and the odd celebrity. She lives in London with her husband and baby and is working on her third novel.