Over You (36 page)

‘And I’m so . . . so sorry,’ Lisa sobbed brokenly. ‘I’m so sorry, Josie.’

‘It’s all right,’ Josie soothed her. ‘It’s all right.’

Lisa cried and cried. And as Josie sat there, arms around her friend’s shaking back, she could feel the hard lump of anger and bitterness dissolving, draining away. Lisa was right: she’d been punished enough.

After a few minutes Josie rummaged in her bag for a tissue. Four years of looking after the boys meant she was never without one. ‘Here,’ she said, passing it over.

‘Thanks,’ Lisa said, wiping her eyes. ‘Thanks for letting me say that. I’ve kept it in for such a long time.’

Josie shrugged awkwardly. ‘It’s all right. I’m just sorry you’ve had such a horrible time,’ she said. ‘And that you had to go through it alone. That must have been really tough. I can’t imagine how tough it must have been.’

Lisa blew her nose. ‘It was awful,’ she said quietly.

‘What a shitty thing for Pete to do,’ Josie said. She sat back down. ‘You know, when I came here, I hated your guts. I was thinking to myself on the train, What can she possibly say that will change the way I feel about her? But you just said it.’ She turned her glass around on the table, making a churring noise on the tiles. ‘Now I don’t know what to feel. Sorry for you, I suppose. And sad for Rose. She would have been a half-sister to the boys. Although . . .’ She raised her eyes. ‘Although I guess you’d never have told me that, right?’

Lisa gave a small smile. ‘No.’ She glanced again at the roses by her side. ‘I planted those when she . . . After she . . .’

Instinctively Josie got to her feet and went over to the flowers. She crouched on her haunches and carefully pulled one of the rose heads towards her, burying her nose in its soft petals. And then her eyes swam with tears, as its perfume caught in her nose, and she thought about her own phantom Rose, the daughter that she too had wished for.

‘Are you all right? This must be a bit of a head-fuck,’ Lisa said from behind her. ‘I’m sorry to spring all of this on you, but . . .’

Josie shook her head. She didn’t want to start telling Lisa about her Rose. It was too private, too painful. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. She got to her feet, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I’d better go to Stu’s – although I don’t exactly feel in a party mood now.’

‘I’ll call you a taxi, shall I?’ Lisa asked. ‘Or do you want to stay a bit longer? You’re welcome to.’

The smell of the roses was catching in the back of Josie’s throat; it was making her gag now. She stepped away from them, towards Lisa’s back door. Suddenly the garden felt too bright; the sunlight hurt her eyes. ‘Could I have a coffee, do you think?’ she asked.

‘Course,’ Lisa said, standing up and going inside.

Josie followed, turning one last time to look at the roses. ‘Bye, Rose,’ she whispered under her breath.

Josie hugged Lisa when the cab arrived. It was almost six o’clock now, and she’d phoned Stu to let him know she was on the way at last. ‘I had a bit of catching-up to do,’ she’d told him.

‘No worries,’ he’d said. Punctuality was never an issue for Stu. ‘See you when we see you.’

Now she was on Lisa’s doorstep saying goodbye, with a taxi purring at the kerbside. I’m really glad I came,’ she said truthfully, heaving her bag on to her shoulder. ‘And I’m glad you told me all of that.’

‘Me too,’ Lisa said. She looked wan and pale in the sunlight, Josie thought, giving her hand a last squeeze.

‘And I kind of understand,’ Josie said after a moment. She hesitated. ‘Sure you don’t fancy coming with me to Stu’s?’

Lisa shook her head. ‘Not tonight,’ she said. ‘But maybe if you’re in London again, some other time . . . ?’

Josie nodded. ‘That would be good,’ she said. ‘Bye, Lisa.’

‘Bye,’ Lisa said. ‘Take care. And . . . thanks.’

Josie slid on to the back seat of the taxi as the driver put it into first and drove away. Lisa waved from her doorway and then they were gone, winding through the Islington streets towards the river. Josie shut her eyes, feeling red-faced from too much sun. What an afternoon. What a revelation. It had all been so much bigger than she’d anticipated. So much sadder, more intense. She could hardly bring herself to think about how awful it must have been for Lisa to go through alone.

Poor Rose, as well. At twenty-five weeks, she’d still have been so small. How tragic, how unbearable that Rose,
Pete’s
Rose, had been so briefly alive, kicking and somersaulting in her watery red world. Until one day . . . what? What had gone wrong? Her heart would have stopped, its tiny drumbeat falling still. Her brain would have closed down. Her miniature arms and legs would have stopped flailing, like a clockwork toy winding down. But why had this been allowed to happen? Why? It was so unjust!

Josie shivered and rubbed her arms, feeling goose-pimply. The death of a child, even an unborn one, surely had to be the worst possible thing, too painful even to think about. She had dreaded it herself when she’d been pregnant with the boys, become frantic if she hadn’t felt them tumble and squirm every day in her belly. And then to have brought them into the world, both alive and healthy . . . it had felt monumental. Her greatest achievement, without doubt.

She stared out of the window. Love, life, death, sex. It went on and on, everywhere, all around the world. Right now, while she was sitting in the back of this taxi, babies were yelling their first yells in every corner of the globe, while others whimpered their last breaths.

She found herself thinking about Rob, in Africa. Rob, fixing ambulances or mending a piece of medical kit that might just save a baby’s life in Zambia. It put things in perspective, Josie thought, as the taxi crawled over London Bridge, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

Stu’s flat was a total bachelor pad, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, white walls, fancy gadgets and sprawling sofa. Melanie hadn’t actually moved in, but had definitely made her presence felt, Josie decided with a smile, as Stu showed her in. There were a couple of new framed black and white photographs on the living-room wall that were far too tasteful to have been chosen by Stu, a pile of paperbacks on one of the shelves (including some fat, well-thumbed Marian Keyes novels), and a colourful kilim on the floor.

The flat also had a tiny balcony – just room for a small patio table and a few chairs – but it overlooked the river, so gave an illusion of space. Sitting there on the rickety wooden chair, feet propped up on the edge of the balcony, mug in her hands, Josie gazed down at the Thames as it rolled along in front of her, sunlight twinkling off the water, while Stu went to answer the phone. She’d known this stretch of the river quite well once upon a time. The boys had been born in a hospital less than a mile away. She and Pete had rented a scuzzy flat in Elephant and Castle down the road. And she’d worked for a while as a junior designer for one of the free London magazines a short walk along the riverbank.

She’d liked working there. She’d just started seeing Pete, and he’d had a job not far away, in Oval, so she’d often hop on a number 8 bus to meet him for lunch. And oh, the lust that had shot through them both in those days! The knee-tremblers they’d had, panting and giggling, in all sorts of places – down alleyways, in that deserted churchyard, once even in the park, behind the derelict toilet block. They’d been mad for each other. She could still remember going back to the office without her knickers on when Pete had flung them off into the undergrowth somewhere and she hadn’t been able to find them again. Could still remember the way she’d sat so primly on the bus back to work, knees tight together, hoping there wasn’t a wet patch on her skirt . . .

Still. That was a long time ago. She wondered if Pete ever thought back to those heady days. Surely not. He had a whole new set of sexual exploits to enjoy right now, after all. Why would he bother harking back to ancient history?

She shifted uncomfortably on her chair as she remembered what Lisa had said about him. The way he’d treated her, dropping her like a stone when she’d told him about the baby . . . It was breathtaking.

She’d always thought Pete was fundamentally a kind person, a good guy, yet he’d behaved so callously. And after ditching Lisa he’d gone on to start things up with Sabine. Not so very kind after all, then.

‘Everything OK?’ Stu came back to the balcony at that moment, his expression quizzical.

Josie realized she was frowning, and tried to snap her features into a smile. ‘Fine,’ she said. She took another slurp of tea, and tried to push both Pete and Lisa out of her head. ‘I’m fine.’

It was a relief to strip her clothes off and get into the shower cubicle a little while later. She tipped her head back, letting the water sluice over her face, slicking back her hair to rinse out all the London grime. Then she put her hands over her face and leaned against the wet tiled wall, the hot hiss of spray on her body. It was a refuge, this small steamy space, but she knew before long she’d have to slap on her party face. God. She was so not in the mood. She was
so
not up for this.

The minutes passed. She shampooed her hair, scrubbed her pits and bits. She shut her eyes and stood there, motionless under the downpour as it needled her skin. And then, with a sigh, she switched off the water and stepped through the steam to wrap herself in towels. Her body was warm and clean. Her hair smelled good. Retreat over. Time to look happy.

She went through the motions as best as she could, blow-drying her hair and styling it, putting on her face, squirting perfume on her neck. She borrowed a clingy, flattering wrap-dress of Melanie’s (‘God, you cow, it looks much better on you than me,’ Melanie said, wrinkling her nose and pretending to be miffed), and then with a heavy heart proceeded to eat Stu’s food, and drink Stu’s drink, and schmooze with Stu’s mates.

She caught up with Bridget and Eve, two women she’d known since sixth form.

She managed a laugh with Melanie about Stu’s crap taste in music. (Melanie was lovely! Definitely the nicest girlfriend Stu had ever had.)

She fended off slimy Jake’s wandering hands, and batted away creepy Trev’s compliments.

She even flirted mildly with someone called Andy, knowing full well it would come to nothing.

But the whole time she was aching inside for poor dead Rose.

It’s all back on!’

Nell’s
voice
was breathless down the phone. ‘What is?’ Josie asked, rubbing her right temple gingerly. It was the morning after the night before – OK, technically it was the early afternoon after the night before – and she was back home, feeling dog-rough with a hangover.

‘Me and Gareth. We’re sorted. One hundred per cent. Everything’s hunky-dory. In fact . . .’ She paused a little self-consciously. In fact, I’ve got an announcement to make.’

Josie sat up at once, from where she’d been slumped immobile on the sofa.
‘What?
she cried, wincing as the blood rushed to her head. An announcement? Surely Nell wasn’t going to say what Josie thought she was going to say? ‘You’re getting . . . ?’

Nell laughed. ‘I
knew
you’d think that. No, we’re not getting married or engaged or up the duff. It’s
me,
remember. But we
are
going travelling together. Central America, in January.’ Josie could hear her smiling. ‘Now tell me
that’s
not commitment.’

‘That’s commitment,’ Josie said, smiling too, despite the ringing headache she’d had all morning. ‘Oh, Nell – that’s brilliant news. That’s perfect.’

‘I know,’ Nell went on. ‘Him dumping me made me really think about our relationship. How much I was going to miss him. It was like a total reality check.’ She paused. ‘And I’m dead grateful to you and Rob for kicking my arse in the first place, you know. I wouldn’t have gone back for our summit talks if it hadn’t been for you two. So cheers. You were a total friend in need – in fact, you were a proper Granny McFadden yourself.’

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ Josie told her. ‘I’m just glad things have worked out all right.’ She tried to stifle a yawn as she lay back down on the sofa. God, she was knackered. She hadn’t even seen Stu’s spare bed until well after three this morning. ‘And it’s Nanny McPhee, by the way.’

‘Whatever, guardian angel, fairy godmother. Same difference. How about you, anyway? What’s happening in your life?’

‘Well, I’ve just got back from London, actually,’ Josie replied. ‘Went to a party at my brother’s.’

‘Ooh!’ She could almost hear Nell raising her eyebrows. ‘Nice one.’ Her
voice
was rich with approval.
The old maid, out on the lash again! Who would have thought?
‘And? Any disgraceful behaviour to report?’

‘No. And no, I haven’t used one of those condoms yet either, before you ask.’ She shut her eyes suddenly, remembering the conversation she’d had with flirty Andy the night before. She’d been in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge, twiddling a tendril of hair round and round her finger. God, she must have looked so coy and girly. Shame she’d blown him out as soon as he tried to sneak a hand around her arse. ‘But . . . D’you know what, I’m really glad I went. I actually felt
attractive
again. I’ve lost loads of weight since Pete dumped me, and I’ve obviously turned into a bit of a babe.’ She giggled. ‘Three blokes tried to chat me up. Three!’