No Longer Safe (5 page)

‘Mmm…wishful thinking, I reckon. It certainly never
happened.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can’t see him setting a date any time soon,
can you?’

I pulled a face in response.

‘You don’t mind cooking tonight, do you?’ she said, pointing
to an open cookbook on the table. She’d left the relevant page pinned down with
a potato. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’ She draped the oven-gloves over my
shoulder, playfully. ‘We’ll eat around eight o’clock.’ Beside the recipe were
all the ingredients for shepherd’s pie.

‘Of course not. It’s my turn.’ I grabbed her hand. ‘Thanks,
by the way – for earlier.’

‘You owe me one,’ she said, with a wry smile and left me to
wash the dishes.

We spent the next hour sharing banal anecdotes
about ‘the old days’. It didn’t take long for the stories to get tedious. Then
Mark insisted on a snowball fight in the front garden. I ended up on Jodie’s
team, but she was hopeless, dissolving into giggles and, leaving me to fend off
a barrage of solid balls of ice. Karen was a demon. I should have remembered
she’d be competitive even when we were supposed to be having fun.

My headache was still hanging around – Jodie’s raucous
laughter hadn’t helped, a bit OTT if you asked me – and I was desperate to be
on my own. All I wanted was to lie down in the warmth, but once again, Mark had
other plans.

‘Okay,’ he declared. ‘Lunch at the pub. Last one in the car
is a slag.’

‘That’s not fair,’ protested Karen, ‘I’ve got to get baby
gear.’

‘Rules are rules,’ he said emphatically, enjoying his moment
of unjustifiable authority.

We all squashed into Karen’s 2CV and rattled off to The Cart
and Horses as though we were having a great time.

On the way back, Karen told us about the loch nearby.

‘They have an archaic crossing system,’ she explained, ‘with
two rowing boats tied at the shore on either side, so people can cross back and
forth whenever they need to.’

‘How long does it take to get across?’ I asked.

‘About an hour, apparently. There’s a sign that says you
must always leave at least one boat on each shore.’

‘That’s one little ritual I’d like to mess up,’ said Mark.
‘Let’s go over there now and take to the water.’

Karen laughed. ‘Not today,’ she said. ‘I need to get this
little one back for a nap.’

‘You’re just chicken,’ he said. He made a stupid clucking
sound and Jodie tutted.

Mark fell asleep in front of the fire once we got back,
while Jodie and Karen bathed Melanie. It wasn’t a big deal to slice a few
vegetables. I put the radio on and listened to a programme about fly fishing
and gave them a call when it was ready.

Karen put Melanie to bed and the four of us sat around the
small wobbly table and helped ourselves. The whole set-up felt staged and
stilted, although it was hard to pinpoint exactly why. It was probably just me,
feeling out of sorts.

Seeing them again had brought it all back, reminding me of
how hard I’d found life at University, trying to be hip and cool like the other
students. I’d done my best to fit in, but I was too withdrawn, prim and plain
to do anything about it until Karen came along. I’d felt like I was walking
round with the words
pitiful loser
stamped across my forehead.

To add insult to injury, somehow it got around that my dad
was an undertaker, instantly setting up a distasteful impression. I could see
the reaction in their faces:
Woah – her dad
works with DEAD people…!
No matter how much I tried to avoid the subject
it always seemed to crop up and stain whatever credibility I had. It set me up
as
weird
before I even opened my mouth.

Karen had rescued me back then and we’d become good friends,
but I had no regrets about losing touch with Jodie and Mark. We’d rubbed along
and I’d made an effort, because they were mates of Karen’s, but there was no
real love lost between the three of us.

Jodie had seemed glamorous at the time, but now I wondered
about her hidden self. Was she happy?  Something about her seemed forced.
I was getting that feeling with Karen too – like she was playing at being
upbeat, when she was really anything but.

Mark sat next to me and jiggled his elbow against mine in a
playful way as I handed him the pepper. Had he changed, I wondered?

‘What have you been up to, Honey?’ he asked.

I wanted to sound impressive. ‘Oh, I love London – I go to
lots of photography exhibitions, concerts, films. I’m going to train as a
primary school teacher.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘No. Not at the moment…but you never know…’ I added an
optimistic smile for good measure.

Jodie didn’t say a word to start with, taking tiny precise
forkfuls of food at irregular intervals. When she finally spoke it was to ask a
question.

‘I’m really sorry, but is there anything else to eat?’ She
nudged a lump of carrot around the plate. ‘This is a bit…mushy.’

‘There’s pudding,’ said Karen helpfully. ‘Alice made
blackberry crumble and custard.’

‘Or there’s fruit,’ I added, pointing to two navel oranges
and a banana in a basket near the window.

Jodie winced as if we were offering her dead insects.

‘You’ve done really well, Alice,’ Karen said without a trace
of condescension, chewing heartily.

‘Very tasty,’ reiterated Mark. 

It didn’t take long before the reminiscences resumed.

‘Remember the time Karen managed to wangle tickets to see
U2
,’ said Mark. ‘She got those tickets just
for you – I remember.’ I waited for him to point his finger at me, but he
prodded it against Jodie’s chest, instead.

‘Yeah – totally wicked,’ said Jodie. Mark was wrong. Karen
had told me she’d got those tickets especially for me, at the time.
U2
was my favourite band in 2005.

I was still silently smarting at Mark’s mistake, when he
turned to me. ‘What’s your favourite
U2
song, Alice?’

‘I love
Where the Streets
Have No Name
,’ Jodie jumped in, which led to a heated debate about our
greatest hits.

‘Mine would have to be
I
Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For
,’ I said.

‘And have you, Alice?’ Mark asked, over a fork piled high
with mince and mash. ‘Found what you’re looking for, that is?’

‘That’s a big question.’ I couldn’t work out if he was
trying to make fun of me or not.

‘Come on – tell us. Have you found out what it’s all about,
since Leeds?’

‘Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m only just starting out.
I’m making serious plans for once, to decide what I really want. I’m going to
explore loads of things; teaching, psychology, philosophy. I want to try
archaeology, learn kick-boxing.’ I took a breath and realised they were all
looking at me. ‘But isn’t it more about the
journey
you go on, not just stuff you
do
? Isn’t
it about who you become on the way?’

No one made a sound.

‘Nicely put,’ he said eventually, a bit taken aback.

I smiled to myself. There was no way I’d ever have come out
with a statement like that when I knew them at Uni. I realised something
important. The ‘Alice’ I used to be felt like a long-lost acquaintance to me.
Someone I’d felt compelled to leave behind at Uni, who would have held me back
if I’d kept her in my life. Since then, not only did I no longer feel a
failure, but I’d made friends with the new ‘Alice’.

‘You had that awful stammer back then,’ said Jodie. ‘You
seem to have got over that now – thank goodness.’

Diplomacy wasn’t Jodie’s middle name. She had a tendency to
speak before thinking – some might even say a honed talent for putting her foot
in it. I found her an odd combination of sweet but insincere – earnest in many
ways, but also thoughtless.

Karen brought out the crumble. Jodie slid a piece the size
of a fig onto her plate. ‘I haven’t got much of an appetite,’ she explained,
‘since Mum died.’

‘Oh, God – I’m so sorry,’ I said.

Jodie hadn’t shown any obvious signs of grief; although
perhaps that was why I sensed her frivolity was an act. She must have been
covering up her feelings admirably.

‘It was kind of expected,’ she said. ‘She’d been ill for
ages.’

‘Still,’ said Karen with gravitas. ‘It’s a big thing to cope
with.’

Jodie licked her lips and half-shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

She didn’t reflect for long. ‘Do you remember that guy my
textiles tutor hung around with…the one with the false leg?’

And so it went on. Meaningless banter. I had flashbacks of
Karen, always the centre of attention, looking exquisite. At parties, she would
work the room, making sure she shared a song with every individual – male,
female, eligible, attractive, or not.

Somehow she managed to find out everyone’s birthday and
without fail she’d present them with flowers, a bottle of local ale or some
other token on their big day. She was amazing like that – generous and giving
of herself. She must have run up terrible debts by the time we left.

By the end of the meal Mark had drunk too much. His head was
rolling forward like his neck had turned to rubber and his eyes kept closing.
That didn’t stop him reaching out to refill our glasses, but Karen said she
needed a clear head for the baby and I put my hand over mine. He topped up
Jodie’s and his own, then went to the larder and helped himself to another
bottle.

‘We’re on holiday!’ he declared to quell any disapproval.

Jodie was knocking it back, too. Although she’d claimed she
loved old rustic places
, she had clearly
expected more home comforts: ‘I thought there’d be radiators… There won’t be
any creepy-crawlies will there…? Anyone brought any fabric softener…? Where’s
the tumble dryer?’

She’d already made several complaints about the cold, having
brought all the wrong gear: tops with low necks, capri pants, short sleeves.
Even her slippers were open-toed, decorated with sequins and feathers. Karen
offered to lend her a thick cardigan and I brought down a pair of thermal
socks.

‘I don’t wear
socks
!’
she said and wiggled her bare toenails, which were painted a lurid lime green.

Jodie had brought along various kits for making tiaras and
hair combs. When I asked if she made them for a living she said she worked in
the jewellery section of a major department store on Oxford Street, but was
going to be opening up her own boutique in Notting Hill.

‘Wow – that’s brilliant,’ I said.

‘I’ve already started selling stuff online.’ She held out a
bracelet, jangling with charms; a tiny silver teapot, spoon, pair of scissors,
saucepan, sieve. There were too many objects to see in one go.

‘What she means is she sells costume jewellery on eBay and
is
thinking
of getting a stall at
Portobello Market, aren’t you Jodie?’ corrected Mark, slurring his words.

Although Mark and Jodie both spoke their minds, only Mark
deliberately set out to provoke a response, whereas Jodie just opened her
mouth. ‘I
have
got a proper website…and
the guy at the market office wants to interview me.’ She turned on him. ‘Why do
you have to be so nasty?’

‘Just telling the truth, that’s all.’

‘Since when were
you
so keen on the
truth
?’ she growled. They
exchanged a look that suggested they had a long and troubled history on that
subject.

Jodie made no bones at University about falling for men who
were possessive and controlling. She regarded it as the highest demonstration of
true love; almost as though the feminist movement had never existed. I’d rather
hoped she’d moved on from that and was surprised her relationship with Mark had
lasted – although I was starting to get the sense it hadn’t been a smooth ride.

‘Look,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve got some business cards.’ She
delved into her high-shine Ted Baker handbag and handed them round. ‘I wanted
to see what they’d look like...’

‘So – this is the boutique you’re…going to open – but it
isn’t up and running yet?’ I said tentatively.

‘Not yet, but it’s my ultimate goal.’ Once again, I noticed
a tremor in her fingers that seemed totally at odds with her glossy and
immaculate long nails. ‘What do you think of the name?’

‘It’s perfect,’ I said, smiling at the words
Jodie’s Gems
surrounded by a diamante heart.

‘I said
Ditzy Dazzlers
would be better,’ Mark contributed idly, looking at his watch. He’d done that
more times than was polite since they’d arrived.

‘Mark – it’s not a joke.’ She sounded wounded.

Six years ago, Jodie had come across as unrealistic and
immature. She meant well, but sadly didn’t seem to have a clue. Since then,
however, she seemed to have found her true passion. Only Mark wasn’t exactly
encouraging it.

Karen started clearing the dishes. I got up to help. Mark
sat back, holding his mobile, and stared without focusing into space, while
Jodie started giving him a shoulder massage. He hadn’t been at the cottage long
before I noticed him tapping on any available surface – the table, Jodie’s
back, the draining board – either with his fingers, a pencil or using cutlery
as drumsticks. He was now making a living playing in a band, he told us, doing
gigs around the country; Isle of Wight, Reading, Edinburgh that summer, as well
as regular appearances in London pubs and clubs. He was obviously missing it.

Mark and Jodie were smokers and he’d already had three
roll-ups during the meal. If the metallic odour was anything to go by, the
roll-ups were stuffed with cannabis. At least Karen insisted they smoked
outside the back door – which was something.

All in all, however, I was surprised at how different I felt
being with them. I wasn’t the ‘downtrodden Alice with the stammer’ they used to
know. I could hold my own with them now. If anything, I felt sorry for Jodie –
Mark seemed far too ready to put her down in public – and for Mark too – it was
clear he was itching to be doing something else. I was glad to be standing in
my own shoes for a change – and not craving to be in someone else’s.