Something Only We Know (29 page)

‘Plus there’s the stress of her job. It may only be part-time, but some of the people she has to deal with on reception are foul. No wonder she comes home wound-up. How many times
did I tell you to help out more around the house?’

‘I did! I did help out! I always stripped my bed every week!’

‘Your own. No one else’s.’

‘You’d never let me into your room to do yours! I vacuum, I wash up.’

‘You live in a tip.’

‘God, I do just as much housework as you. You’re the one who left porridge flakes all over the cooker this morning, which
I
had to clear away.’

‘Well if you’ve wiped that hob it’ll be a miracle in itself—’

‘Girls.’ Dad’s voice was cracked and desperate. ‘Please. Now’s not the time.’

‘But Hel’s blaming me for Mum being ill and it’s not fair.’

‘I wasn’t
blaming
you. I was saying you need to be more aware.’

‘It bloody well sounded like you were blaming me.’

‘Don’t make this about you, Jen, because it isn’t.’

‘Tell you what,’ broke in Ned, ‘I can at least go and get us a drink, yeah? I think we’re tired and stressed and probably a bit dehydrated as well. What does everyone
want?’

That sobered us, slightly. One by one we gave our orders, and then he started off back down the corridor. You could see the relief in his shoulders that he was getting away.

A moment later I ran to catch him. ‘I can help carry the cups,’ I told him. He nodded. There’d been no need to bother with an excuse.

He led me past the vending machine and across the hospital grounds to the main café. Once there he sat me at a table, brought me a latte and, without asking, tipped in
something from a hip flask. I raised my eyebrows.

‘Brian gave me this,’ he said, tapping the little silver bottle.

‘Who’s Brian?’

‘Brian the escape artist. You remember. The old guy at Farhouses who kept making a break for it. Once hitched all the way to Ellesmere Port before we caught up with him. He never went
anywhere without his flask, called it his Pep-Up. And when he died, he left it to me. It comes in handy every so often.
Go
on, have a sip.’

‘What did he die of, this Brian?’

‘Chasing women.’

‘No he didn’t.’

‘Yes he did. Every day he’d be scuttling round the grounds like Benny Hill.’

‘He died of a heart attack, didn’t he?’

‘No.’

‘You’re a terrible liar.’

‘He was nearly ninety, Jen.’

Ned ran his hands through his fringe distractedly. His eyebrows registered despair. I thought,
No, Jen. However shit my head is, the one thing I mustn’t do is take it out on
him.

‘We can’t stay here too long,’ I said.

‘I know. But Hel’ll text us if anything happens. You just relax for five minutes, yeah?’

I took a deep drink of the zinged-up coffee. The warmth of it soothed my throat.

‘It was such a shock. When I found her. I didn’t realise. I almost walked past her. God, imagine if I’d done that, just gone straight on upstairs and
left her
. . .
And then I saw her legs sticking out. It was, it was just—’

‘Horrible for you.’

‘At first I couldn’t make sense of it. Then I didn’t know what to do. Don’t ever tell anyone, Ned, but my very first instinct was to scream and run away. Isn’t that
awful of me? I was almost looking round thinking, Who else can deal with this? Not me, I can’t deal with it.’

‘But you did. You sound as if you coped brilliantly.’

‘I rang 999. The paramedics did the rest.’

‘You kept your mum calm. You were great with your dad. He was saying how “in charge” you sounded when you told him, how sensible you were. I think that made a major difference.
Because you kept on top of the situation, that made it easier for him to break the news to Helen.’

Helen. ‘How’s she doing, would you say?’

‘Ah, you know your sister. Not much reaction yet. But it’ll all be going on inside, you can bet.’

Two middle-aged women queued up at the till, their plates piled high. They were nattering away happily to each other, ready to enjoy a feast. And I wondered who they were visiting here today
that they could bear to be in such high spirits, heartless gluttons. Then after a moment I thought, Perhaps they’ve just had good news. It could be a celebration I was witnessing. People do
get well again, have reprieves.

Ned touched his fingers to mine.

I said, ‘I feel like I’m standing on a cliff edge and I can’t bring myself to look down. This is my mum. My
mum.
I know we haven’t always got on, but she’s
the only mum I have. If suddenly she isn’t around—’

‘Don’t.’

‘But what if? What if?’ Tears welled up at last. I’d been holding myself together for hours. What if my mum died and left us, what family would there be? The three of us
stumbling about, disconnected, not knowing what to say to each other. Perhaps I’d go and sit alone in the garage myself some evenings. The absence of my mother was simply too awful to
contemplate. I longed to go back to when I was really young and life was safe and straightforward, and she was right at the heart of things. What we lose as we grow into adulthood is
incalculable.

A young woman leaned by the café door, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. As I watched, a guy I guess was her boyfriend or husband came up and put his arm round her. She crumpled into him and
he embraced her while she sobbed. That protective gesture made me think of Owen: how once I’d been followed from the car park by a man who grabbed my shoulder and swore at me and threatened
me, and how great Owen had been when he heard about it. He’d got me a leaflet on self-defence and a Reclaim the Streets sticker for my bag. For a week he’d walked me to my car to keep
me safe. Squeezed me extra tight as we kissed goodbye. And I’d
felt
safe. I thought of summer afternoons sitting on the Walls with him watching the weir, and evenings laughing in the
pub with Vikki and Keisha and Saleem. A spike of unbearable longing pierced my breast. I needed to be held like that girl.

‘Can I borrow your phone, Ned?’

‘Yeah, course. Anything to help.’ He pulled out his mobile and slid it over to me. ‘Who’re you calling?’

I didn’t answer because I knew how he’d react.

‘Jen?’

‘Um . . . no one.’ I should have lied. Why the hell didn’t I say ‘Gerry’ or ‘Rosa’? That would have been perfectly legit, letting them know I
wouldn’t be in the office tomorrow. Or even one of the zumba girls. A college mate. Anyone. Only, my mind was scrambled. I turned away to shut him out because I’d mistyped the number
and had to begin again.

‘Aw, it’s not Owen, Jenny? Please say you’re not phoning him.’

‘Just give me a minute.’

‘Jen, please.’

‘I want to let him know about Mum, that’s all. As a friend. Keep him in the picture.’

‘Don’t.’

‘It’s none of your business.’ Now I’d pressed End Call instead of Call.

‘It
is
my business because I care about you and at this moment you’re vulnerable and this is not the right thing to do.’

His voice was getting louder. The happy women glanced up from their plates.

‘How do you know it’s not the right thing to do? When did you become the expert? I want to speak to him, I’m going to. God!’

‘But your timing’s all wrong. You’re in crisis. You’re confused. Look, if later on, after things have settled down, you decide you want to get back in touch with him, and
you’ve given it careful consideration—’

‘
Careful consideration?
Who the
fuck
do you think you’re talking to, Ned? This isn’t the Jeremy bloody Kyle show! I want to phone my ex and that’s what
I’m going to do.’

‘Not on my phone, you’re not.’

He made a grab. Startled, I dropped the mobile, which fell with a thud onto the vinyl tiles, bounced once and landed against the central table leg. I was on my feet inside a second. Never in my
entire existence had I wanted anything as urgently as to speak to Owen.

‘No, you don’t,’ said Ned, lunging towards the floor.

‘For fuck’s sake!’

I’d nabbed the phone first, but he had my fist imprisoned in his and was trying to prise my fingers from round the casing. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I gasped. The scuffle, I was
acutely aware, was ludicrous, as if we were kids scrapping in the playground. We were still both kneeling on the floor under the table.

‘Give it to me, Jen.’

‘No.’

‘Jen!’

‘I only want—’

I was breathless with adrenalin, and an ace away from breaking into furious, hysterical giggles. At that moment I hated him, would have hit or kicked him if I could.

But he was stronger than me. Slowly he forced my arm up against my chest.

‘Drop.’

‘Don’t speak to me like I’m a bloody dog.’

‘I’m serious. I will have this phone. You are not calling Owen.’

‘What’s it to you anyway?’

His face was centimetres away and out of focus. Then his lips met mine with a dazzling shock.

Once, when I was about ten, I was in a hotel lift on my own which got stuck between floors. I’d waited for a minute or two, pressed a few buttons, pulled faces at myself in the mirrored
wall. Then without warning the mechanism gave and the whole lift cage dropped down a couple of feet. My heart had nearly exploded, my blood booming in my ears. When the doors opened I’d
staggered out into the carpeted corridor and fainted. That was how I felt right now. Ned’s mouth was on mine, working, seeking, kissing me like a lover. Kissing me the way I’d tried not
to fantasise about because he wasn’t mine and never could be. The pressure on my flesh was the sweetest sensation I’d felt in my whole life. His free hand was reaching round the nape of
my neck to draw me closer. Shakily I let the phone fall, but he didn’t break contact, just shifted his weight so that the angle was better and he could reach me more firmly. The kissing went
on. I didn’t pull away. God forgive me, I didn’t pull away.

A crack like a gunshot made us spring apart. I fell backwards onto the floor, sprawling, while Ned bashed the top of his skull on the underside of the table. On the floor next to my elbow I saw
the broken salt pot; we must have knocked it during the struggle so that it rolled over the edge. White powder glistened on the lino. Wasn’t spilled salt terrible bad luck? My muscles felt
weak. I hardly knew where I was.

‘Are you OK?’ I heard a woman ask from behind me. I gave an automatic nod, even though I wasn’t sure at all, and sat up gingerly. Opposite me, Ned was dragging himself onto the
chair. He looked as disorientated as I felt. With trembling limbs I clambered onto my seat. Eyes burned into my back. Every customer in the place was watching. What must they think? I hung my head,
trying to hide behind my hair.

‘Oh God,’ I heard Ned say. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’

I swallowed. I knew what I should reply.

‘Jen, I’m so sorry. That was unforgivable of me. A moment of madness. Say something.’

I should go,
Don’t worry, it was nothing. I knew it was nothing. A clumsy collision. We were both wired and a touch mental, that’s all. With the stress. It was like being drunk.
We weren’t ourselves. Forget it. It’s wiped, it never happened.
But that would be a lie. That kiss had unstrung me. Kissing Ned was every bit as blissful and right-feeling as
I’d ever imagined. Some kind of touch paper had been lit inside me and now kindled in my chest. I could feel the heat spreading through me. And already the guilt, the awful, sickening guilt.
Oh, Ned, what have you done? What have we done?

I raised my face to begin framing the lie.

It was then that his phone beeped with a text. Ned spun the screen to face him, pressed a button.

‘Hel,’ he said simply.

CHAPTER 9

The Cool Girl’s Valentine Survival Guide

It’s just a date on a calendar, you tell yourself. An event driven by commercialism, hyped up by greetings card companies and restaurateurs and florists. Who cares if
you find yourself without a partner on Valentine’s Day? Big deal!

Nonetheless, it can be hard to keep cheerful when everything around you seems designed to make you feel a romantic failure. The radio’s playing slushy dedications. Friends text and
email to show off their Valentine haul. Every shop window you pass is plastered with red and pink hearts. Fine if you’re part of it, but if not – bleurgh. Just how DO you keep your
sanity and humour under that level of tacky provocation?

Rosa peered over my shoulder.

‘Remember, I don’t want anything bitter,’ she said, flicking a finger at my opening paragraph. ‘It’s to be an upbeat piece, not an extended bitch about those of us
in pairs.’

Seven, eight, nine, ten,
I counted silently, shutting the laptop down.

Sun streamed through the tall windows of the Caxton House Hotel, creating pale rectangles across the monogrammed carpet. We were in the conference room, checking out its suitability for the
final of Take The Mike. It was a job I felt I could have handled myself, but Rosa insisted on coming along on the basis that We Had To Get It Right (subtext: I don’t trust you not to book the
event in a broom cupboard).

A porter came and hovered. ‘The manager’s on his way. Well, another five minutes or so. Sorry for the hold up.’

Rosa huffed, but I knew she was secretly pleased that the hotel proprietor had been delayed because it meant she got to have a good poke around on her own. At one end of the venue was a stage,
and in front of that a modest dance area. The rest was audience or dining space. Tables and chairs were stacked against the walls in readiness for the next big do, a wedding or a Rotary dinner
perhaps. Ned had told me that the Masons met here.

‘We’re clearly going to be kept waiting for a while longer, Jennifer. If you want, you can ring your mother.’

The kindness of the gesture took me by surprise, although, to be fair, Rosa had been good about my mum. She’d let me set up remote access on the
Messenger
website so I could work
from home, and she’d reallocated various duties to Alan and Gerry without fuss or complaint.